


I'll be whole again

by Carlin_B



Category: Homeland
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Post Season 4, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlin_B/pseuds/Carlin_B
Summary: AU following S4. Two years after Carrie has moved across the globe to start afresh with her daughter, she receives a text message out of the blue from someone who she'd assumed was long-dead.Dialogue heavy and mostly fluff.Ch 8 updated March 7
Relationships: Carrie Mathison & Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn
Comments: 37
Kudos: 61





	1. Two Words

*Hi Carrie*

Two words. Two simple words, that had probably been said, written or texted to her thousands of times before. But this time, on this day, they changed her world in an instant.

The text message arrived sometime overnight, so she only saw it in the morning when she was fixing breakfast for herself and Franny.

The words hit her like a punch to the stomach. From a US number. From an _unknown_ US number. She went through in her head about who the message could be from. Always, each and every time, after every scenario she considered, Carrie circled back to the possibility of it coming from Peter Quinn. But then she would talk her way out of it being true. Inconceivable! Impossible! After all, she had come to peace within herself that he was likely dead or… still off being a soldier in a desert somewhere. Never in the land of the living.

She was semi-content with the idea of him being dead. No mistaking though, Carrie still had a protected part of her heart reserved for Quinn. It was something she did not know existed until a fateful trip to Missouri a few years earlier.

So yes, _Dead Quinn_ was her preferred internal representation of him. Why? For the simple reason that it meant that there was a _reason_ she had not been able to find him. A _reason_ why he had never found her. Sure, she could go back and (shudder) ask or beg Dar Adal how to reach him, ask if he was still in Syria or somewhere, fighting a war he doesn’t care to fight, living a life he doesn’t want to live. But that was out of the question. She'd left that world behind purposefully and with definitiveness. No stepping backwards, not even for Quinn.

Besides, _Dead Quinn_ could be remembered in the way she wanted to remember him. Cocky and frustratingly right - all the time. Loyal, to a fault. Her savior and protector, always looking out for her safety and wellbeing. Telling her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. His smiles that were few and far between but when they were shared, they shone brightly and warmed her soul. The man who wanted to leave with her. The man who broke her heart when he did not wait for her decision about a life together. This, yes, was frustrating to Carrie. It had hurt, angered her and enraged her for months before she chose to let it go, and when he never returned home, he simply just…'died'.

 _Dead Quinn_ was also a way to protect herself from the possible hurt of him being alive, and happy somewhere, with someone else, choosing NOT to have called her upon his return from his mission. That possibility caused her the most pain.

Her life now was in Australia with Franny. Living a relatively normal existence out of the agency. Carrie had taken a job as head of strategic partnerships in the Sydney office of a global strategy consulting firm. Was she running away from her problems? Perhaps that was one way to consider it, but Carrie had needed distance (10,000 miles seemed sufficient) and space after Islamabad to work out who she was, to develop a relationship with her daughter and generally direct her efforts to doing something _good_. It was Andrew Lockhart who introduced her to an old college friend who headed up the firm's New York HQ which led to her being offered the role. Lockhart understood Carrie's need to get out and 'get far away' better than most. Not Saul. His was the betrayal that ultimately sealed the deal for her.

Her new job was so uncomplicated compared to her former career and gave her an enormous level of satisfaction. It was refreshing that she did not have to deal with the threat of terror, death and espionage on a daily basis. The hours were much friendlier too. She considered her work as a kind of amends. Making good, facilitating positive change, improving lives, giving back. Settling within herself the resentment for the pain and suffering (not to mention death) she'd been witness to and had caused.

So, Carrie lived the full and happy life of a single mom in Sydney. She had a French university student living in as an au pair. She'd made friends, developed a cult like obsession with the barre and yoga studio nearby, and even had been on a few dates. Nothing serious though - she wasn't actively looking for a partner, and was fine with that. Possibly because subconsciously she was still stuck on the man who had broken her heart a few years earlier.

*Hi Carrie*

She stared at the message so long that the letters in her name started to look strange.

Carefully, she considered a reply. She did not want to give too much away. _Is this a game? A trick?_ she wondered. She waited until that night to reply, aware that the time difference would likely mean the sender was awake, and perhaps with phone close by. After composing a long list, then a short list of possible ways to reply, in the end she chose an equally generic response, which she hoped may elicit more information from the mystery sender. 

*Who gave you my number?* she wrote.

Tick, tick, tick. About forty nerve-wracking minutes went by before a response came.

*Max*

 _Fucking Max_! Carrie thought. Max was one of the very few people aside from her family who had her personal number.

After Quinn disappeared over two years ago and Carrie relocated across the world, she had asked Max to keep an eye out for signs of life, a location, anything. After just over a year of monthly video calls to discuss leads and what Max did (or rather didn't ) know, they reverted to email. Recently they had ceased to mention his name, the reason why she checked in with him. Carrie would simply say " _So, anything new_?" and Max would respond with " _No, sorry_ ".

Carrie did not yet know this, but Max had stopped looking. She wasn't paying him to, and he knew it only ended one way, with him learning of Quinn's ultimate messy death somewhere and having to be the sorry person to have to break the news to Carrie. He preferred to live in ignorance and not know either way. It had appeared that Carrie had moved on too, so he wasn't too concerned about it.

Considering the unlikely (but still possible) scenario she was being cat-fished, Carrie figured she'd try one more question to confirm (or otherwise) her suspicions. Or were they hopes?

*How do I know it's you?*

*You stood above a bomb in ISB and wouldn't let me fucking detonate it"

 _Oh fuck,_ she thought to herself. Yep. That was him. Peter Quinn. The confirmation made her feel immediately nauseous, a surge of suppressed emotions rising up and resting in the back of her throat.

Quinn sent another message in quick follow-up:

*So, Australia? Can't get much further away from Langley*

*Yeah, that was the point*

*You must miss your family*

 _Not just my family you asshole! You, you, you!_ She screamed inside, but responded instead with:

*Naturally, but we speak regularly on Skype. The lifestyle here has made it a very easy adjustment. Sunshine, beaches, clean air. A fresh start has made all the difference.* Carrie made a point to sound factual, positive and well-adjusted (which she was - the move had been very positive for her mental health).

*Sounds great*

 _Uh, what is this?_ She wondered with incredulity. _Random chit-chat, water cooler small talk? What the fuck?_ Her frustration about his motives then boiled over and she let her attitude take the reins.

*So can I help you with anything?* she asked.

*?*

*Why now?* she asked. A reasonable question, she believed. Correct?

*It's been a while. I wanted to say hi.*

 _Are you fucking serious?_ she marveled. Furious that no deserving apology was given to her, or any explanation as to why it had 'been a while'. She tapped out a few choice sentences, deleted them, rephrased them, deleted them again. And then simply decided that no reply was the best form of response. _Let him sit and wait for 'a while,'_ she thought.

  


The next day she deliberately waited until it was around 2am on the East Coast to call Max. "Anything you been meaning to tell me?" she asked angrily when he picked up the phone with a grunt.

Max of course knew immediately what she was referring to. "Urgh… He asked me not to tell you," he responded groggily, still half asleep. "He pretty much threatened me. I think he wanted to surprise you," he said. "Please don’t be mad at _me_ Carrie - I thought you'd be happy".

"So he found you before you found him. Doesn’t appear that you've been looking very hard. Am I right?" she accused.

"Jesus Carrie, does it really matter now? He's alive!"

"Hmm." Carrie admitted to herself that there was a ring of truth to that.

"How did he sound to you?" Max asked.

"Sound?" Carrie questioned, "Well, no we haven't spoken. Just exchanged messages. Wait, did you speak with him?"

"Yeah, I saw him. He scared the shit out of me, actually. Came up and stood like a creep behind me in a bookstore last Tuesday and started up small talk. It was very strange, he never you know, talked with me much before…. But… I dunno, there was something different about him. He seemed like a bit more _human,_ less bravado. I think some shit went down Carrie. He has clearly been… in combat".

"What do you mean, Max?"

"You should ask him."

\------

  


Carrie decided to tackle this with Quinn the following day, and resumed their text chat.

*Where were you?* she asked. Two hours passed before a response came.

*Syria. At first.*

*At first? Where next? I looked for you for a long time*

*I would have been hard to find*

Across on the other side of the world, Quinn was deliberately being evasive and not answering every question. There would be time for more detail. But not now. Fuck, it had taken him months to summon the courage and strength of mind to attempt to reach out to her in the first place. And by text, nonetheless. The easiest form of correspondence. The opportunity to pick and choose when and how he communicated.

Few words. No emotion. No face-to-face. His scars hidden, for now.

*Yeah, well you're an asshole for leaving. The fall-out from Islamabad was fucking horrible. I really could have done with a friend around.*

 _A friend_ , he considered. How many times had he heard her say _I need you Quinn_ over the years? And how many times had he gone running to her side? Time after time. He did not have an opportunity to respond before another message from her arrived.

*Did you ever think about me?* Carrie took a leap with this question. After all, where things had been left with him was his declaration of… well, something (Love? Commitment? A shared future together?). Surely he must have thought about her? But in this moment Carrie was not feeling particularly generous, reprising the feeling of being burnt by the scenario, burnt by _him_. Part of her wanted to pick a fight with him. Antagonize him. Goad him and make him understand some of the grief she endured.

His response was taking longer than normal to come through. This frustrated Carrie - it was a binary question goddammit. Yes or no, right?

Quinn, however, was considering the question: _Did I ever think about you? Every fucking day_ , he thought. _Until I couldn't_. But he was not going to show his cards yet. He responded simply and plainly. *Things did not go to plan. A different type of horrible from yours*

Carrie pondered this response, thinking back to Max's earlier words. The chasm of the unknown between them seemed to widen. 

*You wanted to get out Quinn. With me. Then two days later you were gone. Care to explain?*

*It was a long time ago. Things went to shit. I don't want fight with you Carrie*

*I thought you were dead, Quinn. I really believed you were dead*

Tears prickled behind Carrie's eyes as she typed this out. Oh, the words she wanted to say to him. The full gamut of emotions she had experienced over the years, from expecting to hear from him, to hoping to hear from him, to the acceptance of his most likely fate. She stopped short of telling him about _Dead Quinn_ \- that would be just too weird.

It was however strangely comforting for Quinn to know that she believed him to have died. Part of him had assumed that this would have been her logical and eventual conclusion. He kind of hoped it had been. After all, he practically had come very close to death, first in Syria and then later as he battled depression through his recovery. He was not ready to embark on those conversations just yet.

*I'm really glad you're not dead* she wrote.

*It be awkward for me if you weren't* With this, Quinn attempted to restore some levity, and then steer the chat elsewhere. *How is Franny going? She'd be nearly 4 now?*

*Yes, good memory. She is amazing and funny. Challenging and wilful sometimes. She loves everything to do with princesses and fairies. She takes swimming lessons once a week and rides her scooter to preschool each day. She has developed a funny hybrid accent I will admit, but it does make her sound incredibly sophisticated for a young child."

This made Quinn reflect and smile. Seeing Carrie refer with such affection and warmth about her daughter and their normal picket-fence life affirmed for him her decision to get out and leave the country. The kind of life _he_ had wanted. With her, with them. Back then, when things were different. A long time ago. He missed his chance. Syria was their 'Sliding Doors' moment. Carrie would not be happy like this had he stayed. He made the right decision. But, he was still curious.

*Send me a photo?*

Carrie paused and smiled, remembering her last memories of Quinn, that day of her Father's funeral. He was so happily holding her daughter, with ease and confidence. How many times she had replayed those scenes in her mind, over and over. Thinking about what might have been.

*Ok, but I need a fair exchange: a photo for a photo. Deal?*

*Deal* he responded.

She scrolled through her phone looking for an appropriate photo of Franny. She sent a photo from Easter, a few months prior. Franny was wearing bunny ears and held a yellow felt basket in the shape of a chicken, colorful foiled eggs inside. Standing in a garden with a scattering of yellow leaves on the ground. Quinn could not get over how grown up Franny looked. Not a baby any longer, but a young child. Bright eyes and determined features, like her mother's.

A few seconds later a photo arrived in response to Carrie's phone. A small, fluffy caramel-colored dog, sitting on grass, looking up earnestly at the camera.

*This is my special someone. Her name is Coco* he wrote.

*Wow, you have a DOG?* Carrie was incredulous, unsure that Quinn's work hours and long trips away were suited to a owning a dog. *I admit, I imagined you more of a German Shepherd or Husky kinda guy"

*Maybe. I never had a dog growing up. But, she's my therapy dog and I don't argue with her"

And here, Quinn threw out another clue, a breadcrumb for Carrie to pick up and follow, piece together. Telling her that he had been a complete fuck-up basket case was not on his list of priorities and Carrie was a smart girl. Let her work it out and save him the angst of having to 'share'.

 _Therapy dog?_ Carrie wondered with concern, her mind going back to the earlier conversation and all the things he'd left unsaid (or refused to address as the case may have been).

*Quinn, are you ok? You know we can use our phones to talk too, don't you?*

*I know. I'm doing ok Carrie. Small steps first*

  


\-------

  


Quinn and Carrie continued to text back and forth for over a month. Carrie found herself reacting to the slightest vibration of her phone in her purse and other times randomly prodding the home button.

Sometimes it was a single message from him that just made her smile when she awoke (*Good morning*), through to the completely mundane (*Any idea if you can substitute sour cream for yogurt in a recipe?*). Other times, their messages were simply goofy pictures of his dog or Carrie would send a photo of a stunning sunrise from her balcony. They'd talk about banal, everyday stuff. She'd ask his advice on how to fix the training wheels on Franny's new bike. He'd research and send her new running trails to explore.

Carrie texted him small snippets of her life she thought he might find amusing, like the time Franny was in trouble at pre-school for saying 'fuck' to one of her classmates. *I just can't understand where she would have learnt that word* Quinn quipped at the time.

She would amuse him with tales of her misadventures in the kitchen. One day, she proudly sent a photo of one of a handful of recipes that she confidently prepared for breakfast every Sunday: her now-perfected soft scrambled eggs, with a side of avocado, grilled broccolini and marinated goat's cheese. *That looks incredible* he commented. *I'll make it for you sometime* she responded. Half-joking, but also half-not. The throw-away comment stirred a hidden sense of longing within Quinn.

The unique enjoyment in the very unusual nature of their correspondence Carrie found lay in her ability to re-read their conversations over and over. She was also more likely to not blurt something out inappropriately, with the texting giving her cause to consider her words and phrasing more carefully before hitting send.

Although only using the written word, these exchanges allowed them to get to know each other better than they ever had within the agency. Without the weight, stress and anxiety of national security, life and death hanging over them. Between them.

Never did they discuss the agency, Carrie's former colleagues (except for Max, of course - Max and his new girlfriend featured heavily in their discussions and musings) or much about their day jobs. They also avoided discussing 'them' or what had happened - or what _this_ was. This exchange. The rhythm, tone and occasional sentimentality of their correspondence. Nor the way they were both growing to rely upon _it_ as a constant. The renewed and deepened connection between them.

Yes, it was unconventional. But when had any of her relationships with men been conventional? Not that this was a 'relationship', mind you.

She learnt - and accepted - the following things:

  1. Quinn was a man of few words (i.e. his single sentence or single word responses to her paragraphs)
  2. He wouldn't answer every question (There were clearly things about Syria he wasn't ready to share with her - and she accepted that)
  3. He 'listened' and had a good memory



On the eve of the anniversary of her father's passing, Carrie received a message from him.

*Thinking of you, Maggie and the girls as you remember Frank. He'd be so proud of you Carrie*.

The gesture floored her.

  


Then a few days before Franny's birthday a package arrived from the US. Assuming it was from Maggie, she didn't open it right away.

"What's that box Mummy?" Franny asked after returning home from preschool, seeing the box on the counter.

"Well, I think that is something for you to open on your birthday sweetie," Carrie explained. 

Inside, some wooden dolls and doll-house furniture. Plus, a small wooden caramel colored dog.

Carrie felt very strange emotions inside her. She had mentioned only ONCE about a doll's house she was planning to get for Franny for her birthday.

  


*You are too generous Quinn. Franny adores your gift, especially the little dog. Did Max give you my address as well?*

*Maggie did*

*You spoke to Maggie??*

*Duh. I needed your address to post the gift, silly.*

Carrie was floored. Again.

  


\-------

"Is there something you've been meaning to tell me, dear sister?" Carrie asked slyly the next day on Skype.

"Hahaha. So his gift arrived?" Maggie laughed. "We knew you'd be surprised! And maybe a little annoyed with me."

"We? So, you discussed how I'd react - you and Quinn?"

"Yeah, we had a great old time imagining this very phone call. He came around one Sunday afternoon a few weeks back. I made some tea, we sat outside. Did you know he has a Labradoodle called Coco?"

"Yes, erh, I do know that." Carrie was flummoxed. Clearly their conversation had not just been about procuring Carrie's address.

"Anyway, Carrie. His intentions were so sweet and I remembered how nice he was. It felt right to allow this to be a little bit of a surprise for you. For Franny, I mean. For Franny."

"I am still getting over the fact you had tea with Peter Quinn."

"Carrie," Maggie sighed, "I know how upset you were when he went overseas. But… he really does seem to still care for you. And Franny of course."

Carrie was speechless, and admittedly a bit jealous. This was Peter Quinn, who still only sent her text messages, never called. But then turned up to her sister's house.

  


\-------

However, occasionally when he did not send a message for a period of five days or more (and this happened from time to time), Carrie's suspicious mind jumped to conclusions and her deep-seated fears took hold: he'd left for another mission, he hadn't said goodbye (again!) and he'd be 'dark' for an unknown period of time. It irritated her that she worried so much, after all - what were they? Friends? Pen pals?

Carrie was also growing increasingly frustrated with their text messaging and not actually speaking to him. _For fuck's sake, Maggie has seen him_ , she would muse. _Why is he being so mysterious with me?_

One day after not hearing from him all week, she abandoned her better judgement and sent a provocative message to trigger a response.

*Where are you? Syria again?*

  
*No Carrie*

*Another mission on the cards?*

*That's over Carrie*

*Haven't heard from you this week, so I was worried. Guessed you'd been shipped off somewhere.*

*There are no more missions Carrie. I'm out*

*Bullshit*

*What bullshit? I am out - why you don’t believe me? Why am I having to prove this to you? To justify not texting you every fucking day? Get a grip on your insecurities*

*Out since when?*

*Since I got back from Syria*

*So this whole time you've been out and you never said anything? Then what do you do? When you work, what work are you doing?*

*I work for a non-profit*

*Doing what??*

*It's an organization that runs programs to support kids in the system. Sports, tutoring, access to scholarships etc. I help with some of the programs and do some biz dev for them too*

*Aren't you a little overqualified?*

*Fuck you Carrie*

*Why have you never told me about this??*

*You never asked*

That was the truth. Carrie had never asked. On purpose, though. Didn't want to prod, figured he would tell her about 'work' if he wanted to. She'd assumed he was still at Langley, and wouldn't be able to tell her about classified stuff in any case. And you know what they say: Never assume, because when you assume….

On the flip side, Quinn had deliberately not provided information if he hadn't been asked. Trying still to protect himself. Leaving the walls up and only letting selected bricks fall down in a controlled and careful operation. In the meantime, let her believe what she wanted to believe. He'd never lied. And she'd… never asked.

But Carrie was not done. Uncompromising and unforgiving she continued on her path of spite. And having the last word was Carrie's preferred position, and a very bad habit.

*Moving on… Quinn, we've been doing this text thing for months now. You either want to speak to me or you don't. What is it?*

*I don't, sorry. Not when you are in a mood like this*

  


Neither of them sent any messages for nearly two weeks. Carrie, because she was now slightly embarrassed and typically stubborn. Quinn, because he was exhausted and needed time to consider what he was doing and why at times he was holding back. The pendulum of feelings inside him swung from one side to another, depending on the day, or hour. One day he would fondly recall how much in love he was with her. Had been, back then. Was he still? Could something be rekindled? The next he would wallow in anger and negativity: _Carrie's right. What the fuck are we doing? She doesn’t realize what a useless fuck up you've become. And besides, you fucking idiot, she lives on the other side of the world now. There is no point in wasting any further time or energy on this. Whatever 'this' is._

  


\-----

Their silence was broken a few weeks later after she awoke in a screaming, sobbing mess in the middle of the night, heart pounding. Images vivid and horrific, imprinted on the walls of her bedroom as she looked around trying to return to reality. Carrie felt suddenly compelled to message him.

*Hey. Are you free?*

*What's up?*

*A god-awful nightmare*

*Want to talk?*

*Yes. Can we?*

Around a minute or so later her phone rang. Her heart and mind were still racing from the graphic nature of her dream, and now for a different reason. She knew the minute she answered the phone a spell would be broken and things between them would change once again.

"Hello?"

"Hi Carrie"

Those two words again. And oh my god how amazing did they sound! His voice - undeniably Quinn's. Not upbeat, not emotional. Steady. Measured. Calm. Quinn.

"Carrie, you there?"

"Sorry, hi. I am just a bit overwhelmed that I am… actually _talking_ to you". Her voice felt strangled, full of emotions and adrenaline.

"You ok?" A hint of concern, just a hint.

"Yeah…..No… I just had a really horrific dream. Just needed or wanted reassurance from someone that it wasn't real. My god… normal people don't have nightmares like this. And it's not something I can share, you know, with friends or my sister. Without giving them nightmares. It feels quite…lonely."

"I get it."

"And I couldn’t shake the feeling that…" she sighed, "… something bad had happened. To you." She added the final two words as a post-script.

"All good here Carrie. Safe and sound."

She exhaled, then nodded. "Of course you are. You know, it was probably karma. Pay-back from what a bitch I was to you recently. I am… genuinely, really sorry about that Quinn."

There was a pause between them and he chose not to respond to that. To dredge up that stupid argument.

"Do you have them often? The nightmares?" he asked, with a haunted voice.

"No. Not so often these days. I've actually stopped expecting to dream about that stuff now. Which I think is why it has shaken me so much."

"Want to talk about it?" He looked around behind him, and took a seat. He was at work and had stepped into a vacant meeting room to make the call. The room had glass walls, but he turned away from them so others outside could only see his back.

"Not really." She had dreamt she was back in Iran, at Brody's execution. But it wasn't Brody being executed, it was Quinn. She'd never talked to him about that experience. She wasn't going to start now, but settled on giving him an overview. "You were… killed. In front of me. It was extremely, strikingly… real. The same sounds, the same smells."

"As what?"

"Oh… Tehran," she mumbled. Quinn immediately made the link between the dream and Brody. But did not acknowledge it, and thought diverting to his own experience might be a useful distraction for her at this point. More breadcrumbs.

"You know, when I was in hospital, I'd have the same nightmare each and every night. It was so real, as if I was back in the situation that got me there. I was replaying, reliving it every fucking night. Each time I just wanted it to end with me dying. But… each time I woke up. That was the worst part. Because _I_ wanted to be the dead one." He spoke in a low voice.

"Fuck Quinn, that's… dark."

"Yeah well, I've been in some very dark places. Too horrible to talk about. Fuck Carrie, I have a therapy dog to help me…fucking… _deal_ with living. Because I really wished a lot of the time I was dead. For a very long time I was angry that I survived. Some days, particularly when I have nightmares, I can still feel that way." He was suddenly unsure how so much information - and honesty - was pouring out of his mouth. This had not been his plan, but it actually did not feel wrong.

She exhaled. Hearing his voice, after more than two years was surreal. And hearing him spit out such dark words and sentiments now such a contrast from their normally happy texts. It was sobering and frightening to listen to. From Quinn's perspective, it was the easiest way to broach the topic of 'what happened'. Mention the hospital, mention that he'd been hurt. Breadcrumbs, breadcrumbs. _Piece it together Carrie_.

Carrie switched the phone to speaker, and placed it beside her pillow as she nestled down under the covers in bed.

"How long were you in hospital? You've never told me what happened."

He sighed. Quinn knew that eventually he may have to share details with her, but still didn't want to share too much. He already felt he had. Plus there was no point - what happened had happened. Besides, he was sitting alone in a meeting room with relatively little privacy. He stood up and walked to the windows overlooking the street below.

"I don't like talking about it" he responded coldly.

She avoided speaking, allowing him the space if he wanted to go further. And in a low voice he did, staring out the window with empty eyes.

"I'd been there for six months, give or take. Fourth back to back mission. But things went…", he exhaled heavily, "…very wrong. Very wrong. Bad intel. Convoy got ambushed as we were nearing the border. Half the guys…. Half of them, um,…." he stopped and groaned. "My leg got fucked up. Fucked up my skull too. No one knew at the time but I'd ruptured a kidney. Somehow got evacuated over the border before eventually being flown to Landstuhl. Along with one other guy who'd survived, Farris. Not that I remember that part. They thought I just had a broken leg and a head wound. I think once they worked out I was bleeding to death on the inside they fucking abandoned Farris and performed emergency surgery on me." His words at this point were spiteful, angry and cold. "Apparently as quick as they were putting new blood in I was bleeding it out. Was in an induced coma for about a week. They didn't tell me Farris died for a while. The recovery and rehab was long and torturous. They kept me there for a long time. I came very close to ending things for myself. Couldn’t reconcile having survived when others didn't. The nightmares were - are _still_ … the stuff of nightmares."

He paused. Carrie realized her entire body was tense, her mind racing, stomach completely in knots. Her mind, ticking over trying to match timelines as to where he would have been when. Reconciling the facts. Her heart was breaking inside, wondering why on earth he'd felt like he could not tell her this after months of communicating with her. But she knew this was her time to stay quiet.

She heard him sigh. "Carrie, I didn't come looking for you when I got back here. I was numb. Good for absolutely-fucking-nothing. For no one. I've spent a long time trying to get better. Physically and mentally. Rehab fucking rehab, anti-depressants, pet therapy. Trying to work out why I should even fucking bother. I waited until I was… felt well enough, had a job, could function, could semi-communicate - though you'd probably suggest I can't even do that. Besides, I had no idea if you'd ever want to hear from me again." There was doubt, derision, self-loathing in his voice.

All Carrie wanted to do in that moment was to reach out and embrace him.

"You know Quinn… my answer was yes," she said, small voice, nervous about how he'd respond. She held her breath.

"That was a long time ago Carrie." He spoke now without emotion, clearly, simply. Stating facts. "And, I'm doing ok now. Better. But it's been a very long and difficult road. And I'm still completely fucked up some days Carrie. But… don't send Max around here on suicide watch for me, will you?"

That made her laugh, sadly. "Ok, no Max, I promise." _And here goes nothing_ , she thought, "But, Franny and I are back for Thanksgiving…. Would you mind if I turn up to see you?" She held her breath again, in anticipation of his response.

"I would like that."

She thought she could sense a smile in his voice, which made her smile. "Me too."

There was an awkward pause between them.

"No more dreams about me Carrie, ok?" he said, chastising and somewhat playful, but paused and then said softly, "Call me whenever you need though."

"Ok. Good night."

"Night."

  


Carrie lay prone under her covers, wide eyes looking up at the ceiling, still reeling from what had transpired, but no longer seeing the images from her dream. The horror of her own nightmare a distant memory, now replaced with an entirely different one. In her head and on her fingers she began counting and calculating the days until Thanksgiving.


	2. Stubborn Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Carrie meet up when she is back home for Thanksgiving.

They say when you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere else to go but up. 

A young, inexperienced nurse said this to Quinn early on and he simply blinked at her. It was as if she'd read it on a motivational poster somewhere and thought she was being helpful. 

"And I suppose everything happens for a reason, it's all God's plan and I should make lemonade out them damn lemons, too?" he remarked.  
"You got it!" she replied chirpily.

It took all his strength not to throw the jello he was eating across the room.  
Besides, the saying was incorrect. Up is not the only option. You can give up. You can cease to exist. Fade to black.

During his hospitalization Quinn had betrayed everything he'd been taught. He showed weakness, cowardice, complete apathy. He found ways to blame himself for what happened, even though there was nothing he could have done differently. Wrong place, wrong time, blah blah. Survival had been his punishment. His torture.

Dar visited periodically and had said at one point, "C'mon Peter, you need to snap out of this dark hole you are in."

"I'm no good to you now," Quinn had responded.

"Maybe. But you are better than this. You're alive - you should be grateful. You think I liked delivering those letters?"

"Don't give me your Pollyanna bullshit. It makes no difference to you if I am dead or alive."

"Not to me. You're right, I don't give a shit. You think I like coming here to visit your sad and sorry ass? I'm not asking you to do this for me." Then after a pause he added, "So, do it for your son."

"My son doesn't know I exist." Quinn's response monotone. 

"Then do it for _her_!" Dar had snapped back immediately, loudly and angrily. 

Quinn had known exactly who Dar was referring to, without saying _her_ name. He did find it curious that Dar would use Carrie as an incentive. He couldn’t stand her. Had they been talking? Or maybe, Dar had known exactly how to ignite a spark deep within him.

He'd abandoned thinking of her since he'd been back. His brain couldn't summon the effort of thinking of anything beyond the torture of getting through the day. 

Quinn would never, ever tell Carrie but in that moment Dar had just planted the seed that started it all. His decision not to fade to black. That one, obtuse reference to Carrie Mathison got under his skin and wouldn’t go away. A niggling curiosity to revisit that storyline. All those 'what ifs'. 

That, plus his friend Luke. Luke who'd lost his legs from an IED but whose PTSD was his greatest demon.  
They smoked cigarettes together when they weren't supposed to. Talked shit about the nurses. Plotted against the kitchen staff and their shit they passed for food. Planned the vacations they'd take. Sat next to the other on their worst days. 

Luke had what Quinn had wanted: a house, a wife, a family. Someone to come home to. Quinn had walked away from an opportunity for that nearly a decade ago. Not entirely by choice, another unfortunate victim of his blind allegiance to Dar. 

Quinn had watched on when Luke's wife came to visit. He saw the pain and suffering on her face in watching Luke when he was at his lowest. Quinn respected them both, but swore to himself he wouldn't let her see him until he was better, stronger.

When reconnecting with Carrie earlier in the year, he nurtured a fierce, mute hope that eventually something might be rekindled. And slowly but surely, over many months they rebuilt a connection. Filled in the gaps. He began to smile again.

After that phone call when he heard her voice for the first time in forever, they continued to primarily text but would speak maybe once a week. He wasn't a big talker.

Carrie had become his rock. A frustrating rock admittedly, at times. But the person he again thought of every night before falling asleep.

After sharing scant details about Syria and the aftermath with her (something he'd avoided for so long) he actually felt better, as if a weight had been lifted. Carrie, to her credit, didn't speak of it again. But her acknowledgement of what he'd been through was evident in her words and tone. More compassion, less prodding. He was grateful for that. When he had bad days he could simply say that now and it was acknowledged. Without fuss, overbearing concern or a barrage of questions. He loved her so much for that. Yes. He loved her.

He was certain of what he wanted. But he knew it was risky, dangerous. A one way ticket to probable heartbreak. He'd let enough of his walls down. All or nothing now. 100% commitment. Focus. Carrie.

But what rock bottom had taught him was that there was very little now that scared him. Failure, for example. If something with Carrie didn't work out, he'd survive. He had his house (rented), a dog, friends, a good job.  
He was confident that their geographical challenges were surmountable. A kink in the road. Just another set of swings and roundabouts to navigate around. Of course neither of them spoke of these things, though. 

Who they were to the other, how they felt, what they were doing. All of that, mutually and conveniently off limits and never discussed. The virtual elephant in the metaphoric room. Her return - well, her vacation - in late November was what was now driving him. He knew this was a second chance, and he planned to stick round for her answer this time. Besides, so many signals were there that she was looking forward to seeing him as much as he was her. Upbeat, confident, happy. Excited.

Quinn had found his confidence, purpose and drive again. And was stronger, mentally and physically.  
His body, rebuilt and recovered, now shredded and strong. Once he'd been given clearance from his rehab team to scale up his training he had become a regular at a studio in Dupont Circle. The type where loud, obnoxious music blares under red lights. Where lithe-bodied trainers scream commands to run faster, to lift heavier. It was his sanctuary. His version of meditation. It resembled aspects of military operations that gave him a very similar buzz. But, no one's life was on the line. It was like a drug though, and he fastidiously kept a routine where he got his fix four or five times a week. Pain was comfort. To push himself to zones of endurance he'd taken for granted years earlier. 

Quinn had also found new meaning in his work. What he initially signed up for as a part-time support role had morphed into something more strategic and higher-paying. Not that this was about the money. This was originally about getting him off the couch and integrated back into a 9-5 routine. It felt good, giving back. Doing something that improved people's lives rather than destroying them. Kids who everyone were betting against. Kids who were destined for crime or even bleaker futures. His own experiences growing up in the system never too far from his mind. In a way he was trying to save lives in recompense for those he'd taken away. 

The CEO, a woman in her 60s, had taken a real shining to him. Despite zero background in fundraising, he became her sidekick when she went out pitching to wealthy philanthropists and corporates. His passion for the cause was evident. Donors liked him. His ability to read people and situations, adapt approaches was a huge strength and resulted in some big wins. It was a performance of sorts. 

Nerves were unnatural to Quinn.

Which is why on this day, the day before Thanksgiving, he felt so strange. He used to be so calm under pressure.  
He had arranged to meet with Carrie at a coffee shop at 3pm. He arrived early. Sat at a table and waited. He was as nervous as fuck. 

When he saw her approaching he did a double take. Her hair was shorter than he'd ever seen it, just above her shoulders. She was wearing large earrings. A cornflower blue woolen wrap coat that cinched at her waist. Completely non-CIA attire. She looked… alive, confident, almost glamorous. Not the tense, stressed, on edge Carrie that he remembered. This threw him. All of a sudden he felt on the back foot, unprepared, not good enough.

Quinn stood up to greet her. A warm smile and red lips approached him. Her arms out-stretched. Him realizing too late that she was reaching out to hug him, because he was so god damn overwhelmed. She ended up giving a half hug but did not linger in an embrace because he was stiff and unmoving. He could smell the sweetness of her hair, her perfume, something. 

"It's been a while," he finally said when they sat, trying to smile and make a joke to distract Carrie from the uncomfortable way he'd just greeted her.

"It's so good to see you. It really is," she breathed, now looking at his eyes. 

"I like your hair. It's different," he remarked. _What an idiotic first line_ , he reflected. _Different? Pick a fucking compliment next time_.

"Oh, thanks!" she smiled, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. "I cut it all off when we moved. It's a lot longer now than it was."

He could see her eyes taking him all in, spending extra time looking at the scar on his face. It travelled along his hairline from near the center of his head to behind his ear. She wasn't expecting this, he thought. Quinn was not normally self-conscious about his scars, did not give a shit about them, the way people sometimes stared. But all of a sudden he felt completely disarmed and intimidated about what she was possibly thinking. He looked down at his hands.

"How was your flight?" he asked. Seemed like a nice easy way to ease into conversation.

"Urgh, so long!" Carrie moaned. "Three flights in total. All up it was 30 hours, front door to front door."  
"That's gotta be hard for a little kid," Quinn observed.

"It's hard for the single parent _looking after_ the little kid," Carrie laughed. Quinn smiled. "And don't get me started on adjusting to jet lag. We were awake and coloring at 3 o'clock this morning." Carrie told this story with affection, not complaining. 

A waitress appeared and began pouring them coffee. Carrie stopped her. "Oh, um, can I get a double espresso instead, please?" 

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I can't drink that shit anymore," Carrie said with a hint of disdain, gesturing to Quinn's coffee. "What can I say? Australia will do that to you. Besides there is a very good chance I could fall asleep right here."

Their conversation was polite, surface-level. Whilst one spoke the other listened but mostly watched. Looking at details, thinking about what to say next. It was not weird or awkward, but also not entirely relaxed. A volume of unspoken chapters sitting between them.

Carrie filled the silent spaces with words. Quinn could tell she was also nervous, so was forgiving. And he was enjoying watching her face. The way her eyes sparkled. 

They spoke about the other ways, beyond coffee, that Australia had 'improved my quality of life', Carrie had stated confidently and proudly. These included the way people worked to live, not lived to work, gun laws, healthcare, the generous number of vacation days and the fact that the beach was Franny's playground. Carrie spoke about the upcoming Christmas fundraiser that Franny's pre-school was organizing. Carrie was the President of the parent committee ("Of course you are" Quinn laughed). Carrie went on to discuss her failed attempt at making pumpkin pie for her neighbors back home, who were lined up to come in and water her house plants while she was gone. They talked about the trip Carrie was taking with her sister and nieces to their cabin where they were spending the weekend. 

Quinn by now had settled in and had shaken off his initial nerves. He smiled again, still taken aback by her presence and exuberance.

"So, where are you spending Thanksgiving?" she asked.

Quinn felt put on the spot. Such a normal question to ask, right? But for someone who for most of his life had deliberately chosen to work that day, all holidays, purposefully avoiding needing to explain why he wasn’t 'heading home' or visiting family, it came with some surprise.

"With some friends. Nothing big. We'll probably just watch the game."

"So, tell me about these friends." Carrie leant in and smiled.

"Luke. I'm sure I've spoken about him. And Beth, his wife. I think his brother's coming. Like I said, nothing big."

"How do you know him?"

"Psych ward." He said it without blinking. Carrie did not know how to respond to that. And far be it for her to cast any judgement. It wasn't a place she'd ever made friends. She simply nodded. "He's been really important during my recovery," Quinn added. "They're really nice people, Carrie. You'd like them." 

Time ticked away and they both knew the place was shutting. They were the last customers. Staff were politely packing up other tables around them and it was obvious that they needed to move on. Neither wanting to make the first move to reference the natural conclusion to this reunion. 

"I suppose we should - " Carrie said.  
"Let me get this," Quinn said at the same time.

After settling the bill they walked silently down the street to her parked hire car.  
"This is me" she said, pointing to a dark blue Lexus. They stood facing each other.

_What's next, what's next, what's next?_ These thoughts were running through both of their heads. Quinn took the lead: "Well…. Um, while you are here sometime, you know… if you want to meet up again. If you have time."

"What about tomorrow?" she responded immediately.

"Thanksgiving?" 

"Well, yeah you are welcome to stop by ours after… your 'thing', the game, whatever. If you like. There will be a lot of food. Leftover. Um, you know, if you want to… and Maggie would probably love to see you again," Carrie trailed off. She had rehearsed that invitation in her head so many times earlier that day, but when it came time, she delivered it in a mumbling mess.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said and smiled. Non-committal, cool and casual. But of course he knew he'd be going.

"Great, sure…" she responded.

Soft, misty rain had begun to fall. He reached out and picked up her left hand with his right. Carrie appeared to inhale sharply. He'd been wanting to touch her all afternoon. Especially after the bungled hug at the start. 

"It was nice seeing you Carrie," he said, piercing blue eyes looking deeply into hers, a look of wistful, open longing. She smiled and raised her hand, still held in his, to cup the side of his face, a thumb caressing his cheek. Her fingertips grazing the smooth thick scar that ran alongside his temple. He turned his face in toward her hand and gently kissed her palm, lips lingering, his eyes closed.

It would have been the perfect and right moment for Quinn, Carrie, either one of them to move in for a kiss. The lumps in both of their throats almost choking them and rendering them speechless. Carrie looked pained as if she was waiting for him to move closer towards her. But, instead he stepped backwards, their fingers still entwined but now with arms fully extended. 

"Later," he smiled.

"Later," she whispered, a stupid grin already spreading on her face. He squeezed her hand, let it go, and walked away. 

She stood there in the fading late afternoon light, her face dewy from the rain, watching him walk away. High as a kite from their short time spent together and waiting to see if he turned back at all. He didn't. Still buzzing, she got in her car and sat there for a few moments before starting the ignition to return home to Maggie's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a much longer chapter that I have had to chop up as life has gotten busy.  
> My plan to align Christmas in the fic with IRL Christmas is just not going to happen at this rate. Never mind! I hope you like this. Pace will quicken next chapter.


	3. The taste of Negroni

Quinn turned up at Maggie's house around 8.30pm on Thanksgiving. Carrie was upstairs saying goodnight to Franny for the hundredth time. 

"Peter, nice to see you. Happy Thanksgiving!" she heard Maggie greeting him from the hall. 

Carrie ducked out of the bedroom to the landing to peer down to him.

"Hey! I'll be down in a minute. Just finishing up here."

A small voice interrupted her. "You're Peter Quinn."

Quinn saw the face of a very wide-awake child appear next to Carrie's legs.  
"Yes, I am," he smiled, impressed at her confidence, then stated "And you are Franny Mathison."

"Who is meant to be asleep," Carrie interjected, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders and attempting to steer her back towards her bedroom.

"Goodnight, sweet dreams Franny…" Quinn called out as they disappeared from view.

Carrie came down a few minutes later, dressed in sweats. Maggie had poured Quinn a glass of wine and he was sitting alone at the kitchen counter. 

"Sorry about that," Carrie said running her hand through her hair.

"No need to apologize." He took a moment to look at her. Not the glamorous Carrie that he saw the day before, but still so freaking hot.

"Are you hungry? Can I interest you in some pie?" Carrie asked, holding the door of the refrigerator open and gesturing inside with a flourish of her hand.

"Hmmm. Did you make it?" Quinn asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Why? Does that make a difference?" she responded in mock offense.

"No, I'm kidding. I am completely stuffed. But, thank you."

"How was your day?" she asked.

"Full of laughter and gratitude. Yours?"

"Great. I'm beat though," Carrie said, yawning. "It has been a big day. Franny loved watching the parade. It is so different watching it as an adult through the eyes of a kid."

"I've never really watched it," Quinn shrugged.

"Come sit," Carrie gestured. They went into the lounge and sat together on the sofa. She had her knees curled up and sat kind of sideways so she was facing into him. He could see about two inches of tanned ankle between her sweatpants and socks. He could not stop thinking about how fucking adorable she looked in sweats. And what the rest of her legs looked like underneath them. They talked and they laughed. She laughed. He smiled a lot. It was hearing her laugh that he knew he wanted that in his life. The sound of her laughter. He could listen to that all day. 

"You seem so happy. Healthy," he remarked quietly.

"Yeah, both of those things," she smiled.

In the background Bill put on a movie. Something with guns and cars. Quinn and Carrie continued to talk, in hushed voices. Carrie's knees brushing against the side of his leg on the couch. The tenderness of her yawns and repeated apologies for them. Her tired but still magnetic eyes. Quinn was mesmerized. 

They paid scant attention to the movie, as Quinn took her spare hand in his. Silently, they both looked at their hands holding the other's. Fingers interlaced. Thumbs caressing slowly. A thousand words and meaning appeared to exchange without saying anything. He was scared of looking at her face. Scared of what he'd see in her eyes and what his eyes would give away. Also knowing that being amongst her family kind of killed the mood for anything more intimate than their chaste hand-holding. He also could see Maggie sneaking glances every now and then. After a while, he noticed Carrie's stillness and glanced over to see her eyes shut. Peacefully asleep. Still clutching the empty wine glass with her other hand. He delicately extracted it from her grip and placed it on the coffee table.

He sat and contemplated the scene. Domestic. Romantic. Fucking simple and perfect. After a while, Maggie waved goodnight to Quinn and disappeared upstairs. And then soon after, the spell was broken by the sound of a small voice coming down the stairs. 

"Mommy?" 

Carrie sat up bolt awake, Franny's call a cattle prod to her slumber.  
"Fucking jetlag" she muttered, pulled her hand out of Quinn's, stood up and left the room. Quinn exhaled slowly, looking across to Bill - he appeared oblivious, completely glued to the screen. He could see also, through to the hall, Carrie crouched down, quietly negotiating with her daughter. Franny's protestations escalated and increased in volume. 

Quinn saw this opportunity as a convenient and natural exit point for the evening. If he and Carrie were to explore anything further, he preferred it was away from her sister's family. He stood up, gave a courteous farewell and thanks to a distracted Bill, and joined Carrie and Franny at the foot of the stairs.

"…and you know we have an early start to drive to the cabin in the morning, so - " Carrie was explaining.

"But I'm not TIRED!" Franny moaned, her arms firmly across her chest.

Carrie looked up at Quinn, exasperated and somewhat apologetic. Quinn smiled and crouched down next to Carrie in front of her daughter.

"Hey Franny", he addressed her with a soft voice.

"What happened?" she said with concern, and with a small hand reached out and touched the silver scar along his hairline.

"Franny…" Carrie mumbled quietly.

"I fell over and cut my head," Quinn answered.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes, but I was brave and it's all better now."

"Oh."

"But I have a question for you, now, " looking at her with a very serious voice, "Do you like animals?"

She nodded very solemnly.

"Because I am looking for someone to help me look after my dog, Coco, next week. Do you know anyone who might be able to help me out?" Franny nodded again slowly and pointed to her chest. Quinn continued.

"Well, after you get back from your time with your cousins at the cabin, I am going to need some help walking my dog, playing with her at the park. Do you think you would be able to help me?"

Again she nodded, wide eyes.

"It's a big responsibility though - Coco is very soft and very cuddly"

"I like cuddly doggies and I'm a good helper," Franny responded.

"Well, you will be the perfect person in that case. However! Such an important job means I need someone who listens to instructions and gets a good night sleep."

"Can I walk the doggie tomorrow. I can take Coco to the cabin". Carrie rolled her eyes and stood up.

"You know, I think next week when you are back here at Maggie's house will be better. But I am going to need you to listen to your mommy and stay in bed at night, ok?" Quinn responded, masterfully.

"O-kay" Franny said in a resigned tone. Quinn looked up at Carrie and smiled.

"Now give me a hug, and if you keep your promise, you can have a visit with Coco next week"  
She wrapped her four year old arms round Quinn's neck and said goodnight. 

Carrie had watched this scene play out extremely naturally, with Quinn appearing to be highly skilled at negotiating four year olds.

As Franny scampered up the stairs back to her bedroom, Quinn stood up and faced Carrie.

"She's not going to forget you said that. You better live up to your promise," Carrie stated, matter of factly.

"Of course. Next Tuesday afternoon, I'm not working, we'll do it then. Ok?"

"It’s a date" she said, before regretting the choice of words "I mean, yes let's lock it in."

"It's fine, Carrie," he laughed, dismissing her correction.

"Thanks for stopping by. I am so sorry I fell asleep on you."

"Anytime," he smiled softly.

Franny's voice interrupted, calling her mother from the upstairs landing. 

Quinn said, "I'll leave you to it. Enjoy your weekend." He wanted to hug her, but didn't want to delay her getting to Franny, and was also aware of Bill's line of sight to them both from the living room and felt strangely self-conscious. Instead he reached his arm forward and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, before turning round and retrieving his jacket from the stand and opening the door.

Carrie sighed and returned upstairs. 

\----

"Oh, that's nice," she heard Maggie say, looking at her phone the following afternoon. The 'girls trip' to the cabin had been planned for some months, and there was a long weekend planned of hiking, baking cookies, allowing time for Franny and her cousins to really get to know each other. The older girls adored her, and had settled into a game of mani-pedi hair salon. 

Carrie did not react when Maggie spoke. They were both sitting near the fire, Maggie reading and Carrie doing a crossword. "What's nice?" Carrie asked a minute later, once she registered her sister's comment.

"Oh, Peter sent me a message, thanking us for having him last night. Such good manners! He's very nice Carrie," she said with a glint in her eye and a wicked smile.

"Wait - hold up a minute here." Carrie put down the crossword. "Since when does he have your number?"

"Gosh, I don't know. Probably since before Franny's birthday? Maybe I gave it to him then? Why - does that bother you?"

"Ah, yeah," Carrie spat out, "I could give you a million examples of when his manners have been less than 'nice'! _Like when he deliberately shot me for one_ , Carrie thought.

Maggie laughed. "What's the problem Carrie?"

"Subversive fucker," she muttered. "Flirting with my daughter, with my sister…"

"What, and not you?! You're jealous, is that it?" 

"I really have no idea what is going on in his head."

"You're blind. Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

Quinn did not call or send Carrie any messages over the entire weekend. Whilst deliberate (he wanted to allow her uninterrupted family time) he did not think much of it, given his prior commitment to their 'non-date' the following week. Carrie, on the other hand, kept checking her phone (like a paranoid teenager, Maggie teased her) and moped around. 

\----

An extended weekend to think about this was probably the worst thing that could have happened. Momentum halted, which meant that the brain ticked over a little too much. Too much thinking time is always bad. 

Carrie's bipolar disorder was at its best in almost a decade. However, her natural tendency to over-analyze, dissect situations, map out different scenarios and evaluate risks was second nature. Paranoia was creeping in. A paralysis of decision making. 

It was fear. The trueness and depth of her feelings for him were all-consuming. Her ticket back home on December 28 was the obstacle in her way, and what was clouding her judgement. Her ability to throw herself towards this completely and wholly.

She hated herself for it. Her fear that she'd 'fuck it up' before 'it' had even started.

\-----

Coco was an adorable dog with a soft, caramel colored, curly coat. A happy face with bright brown eyes who trotted along loyally beside Quinn.  
"He looks like a big teddy bear," remarked Franny.

" _She_ does. Coco is a girl, sweetie," said Carrie.

"Then why is she wearing a blue collar?" Franny asked.

"Why _is_ she wearing a blue collar, Quinn?" Carrie asked. _Let's see how he handles this_ , she thought.

"Because blue is my favorite color, Franny. Besides, what color is Elsa's gown?"

"Blue."

"Exactly. I wear blue, Elsa wears blue and Coco wears blue", he stated confidently and looked across at Carrie with a look that said _Ha! You thought I wouldn't be able to answer this, did you?_

Franny seemed satisfied with that response. Carrie's arms were folded across her chest as she looked on surprise.

"How exactly do you know about Elsa's gown?" she quizzed.

"That's classified Carrie" he responded very seriously.

She let out a laugh and gave him a friendly shove to his side with her elbow.

"Be careful" he warned, mock seriousness, holding his ribs at his side. "I have one kidney, Carrie. I really am meant to avoid contact sports."

"All contact sports?" she asked with a sly grin. He blushed and wasn't sure where to look.

Quinn had brought a tennis ball and a ball launcher. Not something a four year old has the coordination to handle easily.  
He demonstrated and confidently launched the ball high and long. Coco ran after it with pace and bounded back with endless energy. Quinn crouched down and helped Franny work out the mechanics of launching it. Carrie watched on as he patiently coached her, over and over again in how to work it, until Franny was successful in mastering the action, the ball landing (just) six feet away. Quinn gave her a big high five.

"How long have you had her?" Carrie asked him, referencing Coco.

"Just over a year. My team thought she would be good for me. The therapy dogs, they're trained to provide comfort, affection, recognize distress when you're asleep, help you deal with crowds and stuff…"

"Wow. Clever dog."

"Mostly the company's been nice. Someone waiting for you at home. Plus you meet new people when you have a dog. She needs a lot of walking so I have to get out. It's provided routine. That was important early on."

Every now and then, Quinn would say things, hint at things that provided Carrie with greater insight to his journey back from the edge of darkness.

It was getting later and cooler. She shivered and crossed her arms across her chest. 

"This is good", Carrie remarked while watching Franny run around. "She will sleep well tonight."

He put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her closer to him. Their bodies touching in the middle. Carrie tried to act normal and ignore the butterflies in her belly, distracting herself by watching Coco run after Franny. Quinn slowly leaned further in towards her, and kissed her gently and softly on her neck, just below her jawline. His lips pausing ever so lightly on her skin, hot and sensual. It created a bolt of electricity and longing in Carrie that shot through her body, causing her to suck in her breath. But, in Carrie's mind, this moment was not to happen here.

"Quinn…" She pulled away, and leant back away from him. A look of shock on her face.

Not the reaction he expected. At all. Hurt and aghast at her response, he exhaled deeply, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and walked away, towards Franny and Coco. _What the fuck?_ he thought. _She recoiled from me. Recoiled!_ Stoic in his rejection, he concentrated on his breathing. This was the failure he'd known was a possibility. He just hadn't planned for it. Feelings of being tricked, played, consumed him.

Carrie put her hands on top of her head, immediately regretting her reaction. Self-sabotage once again. Congratulations Carrie!

Together they convinced Franny it was time to go and walked in silence together to her car. She strapped Franny into her seat, and walked around the front of the car to meet Quinn on the sidewalk. His face was blank.

"Quinn…", she began, looking at him with big open eyes, apologetically.

"No, I'm sorry, I've clearly misread the _entire_ situation". He said this bitterly, not looking at her, but looking past her. Avoiding her eye contact. Red tones of anger in his voice.

"Quinn, no…. I just don’t know how to…. I'm not good at this," she pleaded.

"At what?" He looked at her now, fierce eyes staring intently at hers.

"At being… a normal person, I guess. Reacting in ways that I should. And besides you make me… you make me so nervous." She looked down at her feet.

"You know what?" he leaned in to speak at a lower volume so Franny couldn't hear what he was about to say. "We are _all_ fucked up Carrie, in our own unique ways. But to be honest, I thought you’d worked through some of this shit."  
Carrie looked at the ground and nodded.

"Tell me then, what are we doing? What _have_ we been doing for the past… six months?" he demanded.  
She remained silent, mute, taken completely aback by his anger, but equally rendered incapable of digging herself out of this hole. "What do you want?" he questioned.

She looked up at him, inhaled, but did not speak. Carrie was paralyzed with indecision. She knew her answer. And in watching the hurt cloud his eyes, her ability to voice her response evaporated.

"Ok. I'll make it easy for you. Want me to go first? Here: Guess what, Carrie?" He held his arms out to the side. "I'm in love with you. And I want to be with you." He said each word singularly and carefully, to be sure she understood. But his confrontational tone did not match the words. "There, see? Not so hard. Your turn. Go!" Arms went across his chest as he gave this command, hostility lacing his words.

His aggression spooked her. The timing was all wrong. In every sense. This is exactly what she wanted to hear, but did he really expect to have a conversation like this in front of Franny? On the side of a road? Not to mention the enormity of the declarations, within the context of 'what happens next' - in a matter of weeks she'd be on the other side of the world. So much working against them, against this. But, he still appeared to be waiting for her to declare something, her feelings, her reservations, something. In present company, Carrie decided, she was not going to start an argument or pursue this line of conversation now. She needed to think.

"I need to get Franny home for dinner," she responded in a low voice. 

Quinn nodded, swallowed hard and politely smiled. "Good luck Carrie," he said finally, before turning and walking away with Coco on the lead, seething, trying to keep the feeling of drowning at bay. _This is exactly what happened last time. Indecision, excuses, lame-ass apologies. Fuck it. Waste. Of. Fucking. Time._ What a fool he'd been to entertain such fantastical thoughts about anything more than friendship. He pondered for half a moment if it was possible to have your heart broken twice by the same girl.

She texted him that night. *Franny had a lovely time today, thank you.* He did not reply. 

"What's wrong?" Maggie asked, observing Carrie staring into her cup of mint tea later that evening.

"I blew it."

"How so?"

"He told me he was in love with me," Carrie said mechanically, clenching her jaw.

"Oh my god. Oh my god!" Maggie cried, before looking at Carrie and seeing her facial expression. Downcast and empty. 

"What happened, what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything." Carrie smiled a sad smile. 

\-----

Max had invited Carrie out to dinner to meet his girlfriend Shelby. They'd been together for a while, but Max (being Max) had kept it pretty quiet and when he suggested it Carrie felt quite touched that he wanted to share that part of his life with her. Fara, along with everything that happened with the embassy attack, was still a taboo subject between them and Carrie continued to harbor horrible feelings of guilt and sadness after Max's words to her in Islamabad. 

Carrie was grateful for the distraction. Still overwhelmed, guilty and regretful from how things had been left with Quinn. A terrible feeling of déjà vu. A night out would be good, and Maggie was more than happy to help with babysitting if it got Carrie out of her miserable mood.

A taxi dropped Carrie off just outside the restaurant. After paying the driver, she stepped out and saw a familiar face approaching her from the opposite direction down the sidewalk. Quinn.

Her stomach flip-flopped, first with excitement, but then again with nerves as she read his mood. His face and body language gave it away.

"Are you here for the same reason I am?" she asked with a smile, "Max?"

"Yep. Fucking Max" Quinn muttered, not looking at her. Looking to the side.  
He was angry with himself that he had not clued onto this earlier. _What are you doing tonight?_ Max had called and asked him. _How about grabbing dinner with me and Shelby?_ No mention of Carrie. None. He should have known. This was a set up. A terribly ill-timed set up. He had half a mind to walk away now. He had certainly not gotten over the way things had been left with Carrie the day prior.

Carrie saw this as an opportunity to apologize, so as not make the evening awkward. "Listen Quinn, look I am sorry about-"

"We should go in," he interrupted. Quinn opened the door of the restaurant and held it open to allow Carrie to enter. She paused, looked at him sadly, then went inside. As they walked through Quinn vowed in his head to exact revenge somehow on Max, to embarrass him or make him feel uncomfortable somehow, as payback.

Shelby was in her mid-30s and a middle-school science teacher. She had a stunning head of auburn hair and wore sixties style glasses. She was clearly a talker (which surprised Carrie), evidently super-intelligent and had an infectious laugh. 

After introductions and ordering a round of drinks, Shelby asked, "So how do you guys manage the long-distance thing?" before taking a big sip of her cocktail, maintaining eye contact between Carrie and Quinn, who sat opposite her and Max.

"I'm sorry?" guffawed Carrie, who had been sipping her own drink at the time.

"Oh we are definitely NOT together," Quinn confidently stated smiling a tight smile and looking directly and Max. Burning holes in his eyes, in fact. Max's neck appeared to shrink into his torso under Quinn's intense glare. "Are we, Carrie?" he now turned and looked at her directly in the eyes, his facial expression blank and heartless. She felt as if a knife had been stuck into her stomach.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Shelby exclaimed, "How awkward. I just, I think um, I just _assumed_ as you guys walked in together. I have no idea how I got that wrong?" She looked at Max with an embarrassed and pointed look and raised her eyebrows.

"It's fine, Shelby" Carrie laughed nervously, "We may possibly give off that vibe. We worked together for a long time. I was his boss."

"Actually," Quinn was quick to jump in and look this time at Carrie with that same intense and piercing glare, "I think you'll recall that I was _your_ boss, first, correct?" A broad, but seemingly insincere smile on his face. 

Carrie could not read him. So she just smiled back and laughed, "Ah, technically yes, that is correct," then turned her attention back to the menu in front of her, confused by the exchange. _Fuck he is really not letting this anger thing go, is he? Not even for the sake of Max._

Small talk about the menu ensued. Shelby had many recommendations.  
"So, do we all know what we are having? I'll call the guy over," she said to the group.

"I do," responded Quinn quickly and confidently.

Carrie was still looking indecisively down at the menu in front of her, tapping her fingers urgently on the table.  
"So Carrie, have _you_ decided?" Quinn asked her, pointedly. 

Her eyes snapped up at his, his tone somewhat antagonistic, and not reflective of a discussion about the food.  
"Do you know what you want?" His words were sharp, cutting, double entendres abound. Eyes connected, holding each other's gaze for seconds too long, hurt creeping into Carrie's eyes. That figurative knife that went in earlier was now twisted. Neither of them noticed, but across the table Max rolled his eyes and slumped into his chair shaking his head.

Carrie felt on the back foot for the rest of the meal. Quinn, however, was ever the showman. Talking animatedly with Shelby (mostly) and Max about this that and the other. About Max's trip to Pittsburgh to meet Shelby's family for Thanksgiving. About the Science Fair at Shelby's school. Max kept catching Carrie's eyes, and on a few occasions gave her a small friendly, and at times sympathetic, smile.

At one point as they were nearing the end of the meal, Shelby asked Quinn to talk more about his work. Quinn politely obliged and gave a great 30 second elevator pitch, one he used regularly when pitching for corporate or philanthropic support. 

"And what got you into that?" Shelby asked, "Seems so different from working at State" (which was what Max had inferred was Quinn and Carrie's former employment).

Quinn paused, considering for a moment how open he should be with those around the table. Weighing up the risks and ramifications of complete honesty or a glamorized version of it. "Well, it's personal. I had a pretty unstable childhood. Moving a lot. My dad left when I was four. An alcoholic mother. I liked school but didn't make friends easily. I was in the system by 11. Moved around a few different families til I was 16 when I left completely. One foster father would beat me. And the mother, well… she saw the bruises on my body and accused me of getting involved with gangs. Had no idea it was her goddamn husband causing them." 

"Jesus…" Shelby muttered under her breath. 

"So, our organization creates programs for kids in shitty situations like that. Mentoring, academic support, scholarships." Quinn paused for a moment, and then continued. "There's this one kid. Didn't know he had choices. Fell in with some older guys, men, who took advantage of him. Saw one guy as a father figure. Didn't realize it was just another form of abuse, exploitation. They got him to do bad things. Bribed him with promises of sex, drugs, money. Convinced him he was doing good. Made him lie, deceive…" Quinn trailed off.

"Anyway, there was an opening to work with this place to make a difference to kids like him. To put them on a better path. Help them make better decisions. Show them that they have choices, opportunities. That they can be happy. That's why I do what I do."

It was not lost on Carrie that Quinn's story was for her. About him. She was convinced Max had worked it out too, by the way he sat looking uncomfortable. Her mind was reeling, trying to reconcile all of this and how he - or if he - still ended up as a Harvard alum.

Quinn however, owned it. Straight back. Chin up. He was used to telling versions of this story in his pitches, normally punctuated with statistics and facts to illustrate the funding gaps and how potential donors could make a difference. The transformative power of the programs offered by the business. It almost was a script. The passion in his words evident. 

Shelby breathed, "Wow, that's incredible. _You're_ incredible!" She raised her glass to him, and laughed "How do I donate?! No wonder you are so good at this. Look, you've made us all emotional," and she gestured across to Carrie, who Quinn had not looked at the entire time. Now he turned, and saw she was looking down at her empty plate. Eyes brimming with tears. Completely overwhelmed with sadness and guilt. She vaguely recalled an exchange with him earlier that year, when she gave him shit for being overqualified for his job. And his offended response.

"Hey," he said softly. Putting his hand on her thigh under the table, out of view. "The kid's doing ok now", he whispered to her with a small smile. His eyes now soft, the venom gone.

As the staff cleared their plates and conversation continued, Quinn kept his right hand on her leg, continuing to talk with cheer, his thumb slowly moving back and forward. 

\-----

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" Carrie asked after they farewelled Max and Shelby outside the restaurant.

"Ok."

Together, they walked in silence for down the street and around the corner until Quinn pointed to a restaurant with a large bar. He held the door open for her.

"I’ll be back in a minute" she said, excusing herself and headed for the restrooms. _What the fuck am I doing?_ she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror while washing her hands. Seeds of doubt. Her insecurities. Fear of hurting him or getting hurt. She knew she needs to claw back some trust, some connection with him after the ways things had been left the other day. She hoped that Quinn could lose the attitude he had a dinner and return to being… well, not an asshole to her.

She returned to the bar where Quinn was waiting with two drinks.  
"What's this?" she questioned. It was definitely not the whiskey she was expecting.

"Negroni. You'll like it". He responded confidently, handing her the glass.

Carrie looked around. Sitting at the bar in front of the bartender was not exactly where she had imagined this might take place. "Do you mind if we go sit….", she asked, pointing towards the open, crescent-shaped chesterfield booths across the room. More private, high backs.

He followed her, still in silence, and they took their seats next to one another on the soft brown leather.

"So Shelby is pretty incredible, don't you think?" Carrie opened with. "Not the type who I would have picked for Max, but just so… lovely!"

"Yes, but we didn't come here to talk about them did we?" he remarked in reply.

A silent gaze in acknowledgment.

"So, was that little performance you gave back there an act? About you growing up in the system?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Quinn I have no fucking idea anymore." They sat in silence, looking at each other.

"Did you enjoy yourself? Tonight?" Carrie broke the silence, sarcasm evident in her words.

"Sure" he said, reclining and keeping his eyes locked on hers as he took a sip of the bitter-sweet cocktail.

"Care to explain why you were being such a dick to me?"

"Honestly?" He questioned, looking across the room, to nowhere in particular, appearing to think. _Because I knew it would hurt you_. "I dunno, I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Well, it was embarrassing."

He shrugged, again looking around the room.

"And hurtful," she added.

"I know," he admitted quietly, looking at her now before closing his eyes for a short period. He knew that tonight he'd deliberately pressed her buttons, and it had given him perverse satisfaction to see her squirm uncomfortably at his remarks. "I suppose Carrie," he began, appearing pained and broken, "I just don't know what more to say. I'm confused about what's going on. Between you and I. I mean, have I got this completely wrong?"

His voice and face gave away his exhaustion of game-play, of innuendo. There'd been enough of that years ago. He'd changed. He felt tired and disinterested in perpetually navigating the labyrinth of Carrie's emotions. 

Sensing that she was on the precipice of completely fucking things up, Carrie shook her head, inhaled deeply, swallowed some more liquid courage and then began. "Quinn you’ve gotta realise that this is terrifying for me."

"What is?" he asked seriously.

"This! And I've been in some pretty terrifying situations. But doing _this_ , scares the absolute shit out of me."

"Doing what?" Still serious, but with a hint of tease in his voice. Smoldering eyes looking directly at her.

 _Asshole - He knows exactly what I am talking about_ , she thought. Exasperated, she looked down at her hands. Instinctively he reached out and took them both in his. "And you! You are staring at me like I am in some fucking interrogation," she cried.

"Oh my god, Carrie!" he laughed, sitting back and releasing her hands. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and reclined into the seat with a look of amusement on his face. "Do you know it is the complete opposite for me. You say terrifying? I've _seen_ terror. _You've_ seen terror. We've lived it goddammit! After everything, everything I've been through. _This?_ Fucking easy!" 

Quinn was smiling, almost evangelical in his delivery. He picked up his glass and swirled the ice around in circles, watching the slice of orange peel dance amongst the melting cubes. After another languid sip he added, "Guess what? No one is going to die Carrie, nothing bad is going to happen. This is where joy, life, _love_ happens!" _OMG did he just use that word?_ Carrie thought. For a moment she heard nothing else he said as she was stilling thinking of _that_ word. He'd said it again.

"Come on, this is exciting!" He was grinning, squeezing her hands. He'd bent his leg up and lifted it slightly on the chair, so it was directly touching her own. His eyes, willing her to say something, to respond. "So. You wanted to talk. So… talk" he encouraged, leaning into her.

She shifted uncomfortably. His sudden enthusiasm was endearing but so unlike him. He seemed so different from the man who a few hours ago was sending chills through her with his cutting remarks and bitter stares.

"C'mon," he prodded, turning one of her hands over and beginning to run his fingers up and down the inside of her forearm. His touch sending shivers through her. "Do I mean anything to you? Do you… like me? Do you… want to sleep with me? Are you... in love with me?" Her eyes appeared to jump out of her head and she felt a rush of heat rise up her body and cause her to flush. He said it so confidently yet seductively. And then after a pause he leaned in close to her ear and whispered "Or, all of the above?" 

Hook, line and sinker - Carrie knew her face gave it all away.  
"You want me to say it, don't you?" She took another sip as a distraction. The velvety, amber-red elixir coating her mouth and sliding too easily down her throat. Its potency was having an effect. 

He reached in and softly kissed her left cheek. "Say what?" he whispered huskily, before moving to the other side and kissing her right cheek, then resting his forehead against hers. Eyes - and mouths - mere inches from each other. She felt completely intoxicated by him, aided by the alcohol. She blinked slowly, her breath becoming puffy, her heart beating out of her chest.

"Yes I am… falling for you," she breathed. Voice soft, but above a whisper so there was no doubt he heard it clearly, definitively. His two hands wrapped around her head, pulling her open mouth and ready lips to his. Fierce and affectionate, their kiss tasted of Negroni. 

"Falling?" he whispered in between kisses, "Or, fallen?" He placed a different emphasis on the end of this word, to illustrate the difference in meaning. He kissed the side of her neck, just as he had at the park. Instead of pulling back this time, she melted in towards him.

"Fallen" she breathed in confirmation. Another kiss, on the other side of her neck.

"In?" And another, painstakingly gentle.

"In," she gasped. More kisses. His lips open, tongue soft and warm. Her entire body felt like it was levitating.

"Love?" he asked. He pulled slightly back and looked at her intently now, his warm hands still wrapped around the back of her head, fingers in her hair. Quinn said the word with a sense of hope, a sense of fear. His blue eyes open wide staring deeply into hers, looking to her for confirmation.

"Yes, love." She uttered those words in a croaky but lusty voice, with a sense of frustration but also relief that she'd now said it. She grabbed his head now and pulled it towards her. Deeply. Softly, but with increasing intensity they kissed. Carrie was struck by how tactile he was. Always touching her face, her hair, her arms and hands. She knew they must look like a pair of teenagers at the back of a movie theater, completely consumed in a never-ending kiss, feeling oblivion. Months, years, of pent up longing in every kiss. Coming up for air at some point she sat back slightly and smiled at him, her lips feeling somewhat bruised, her pulse beating hard and fast. He responded with the most genuine smile she'd ever seen from him. Not polite, not forced but…. Just joyful. Overwhelming happiness.

"Now what?" she asked, downing a final mouthful from her glass.  
"Now, we get out of here." Quinn pulled cash out and left it on the table. He put his arm around her and they laughed as they walked with increasing pace to the door.

\------------------------------------------------------  
A song to accompany this chapter is 'Do you remember' / Jarryd James: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tw4J4u2Rxm0  
And yes, I do know a Negroni is traditionally an aperitif. I personally prefer it after dinner so have served it this way here ;-)


	4. Floating girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie and Quinn arrive back at his place and stuff happens.

From far above, a young woman in a white swimsuit was floating. Her arms were outstretched in crystal clear, turquoise water. Surrounded by bleak grey boulders and granite rocks splashed with orange lichen. The image was mesmerizing. Almost religious.

The large print was the single piece of wall art in Quinn's open-format kitchen living room. 

Carrie had imagined how his place might look like. Now she was there it seemed smaller than in her mind's eye. She looked around her, taking in his environment: that large framed photograph on the wall. The half-empty bookshelf. A large flat-screen television. An attractive table lamp. Charcoal, navy and green hues in the furnishings, picking up the tones of the artwork. 

Aside from this, the rest of Quinn's townhouse was sparsely decorated. 

It did not surprise her that it was functional, practical. Despite the tasteful styling it did not give off a particularly homey vibe. She wondered if an ex-girlfriend had spruced the place up and helped him select the furniture. She chided herself for that thought even entering her head. Why should that matter to her anyway? But, she still wondered.

In actual fact, Carrie could not have been further from the truth. Quinn had driven past a furniture showroom and seen the living room display set up in the window. He went in and said "I'll take all of that". He proceeded to do the same with the bedroom furnishings. The young store assistant met her sales target twice over that day. 

Carrie continued to register the other little things around her. There were two empty bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on the sink. A pile of papers on the table. Small white containers lined up near the sink on the countertop. His meds. Quinn saw her looking at them, and their eyes connected as she turned back to him. How could she not see them? Plus, they weren't a secret. He gave a half shrug. What a pair they made. Not quite half the pharmacy between them. 

"This is impressive. Where's it taken?" she asked pointing to the photograph, feeling like she needed to break the ice somehow.

"Somewhere coastal." He did not want to tell her that it was in Australia. That he'd been researching the place for months and months. He'd stumbled across the photographer online, was captivated by the image and ordered the print, had it framed.

"It's beautiful. She looks like an angel," Carrie said, entranced. And despite there being no clear physical resemblance, Quinn had often thought about Carrie when he looked at the woman. The image also reminded him of death and dying. Resurrection from his own suspended death and from being swallowed up by his demons.

"I find it peaceful." He gave a wistful smile.

"It is." 

They'd arrived at his house without any mention of why they were going there. It was left unsaid and needed no explanation. He had held her hand in the back of taxi, occasionally bringing it up to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist. The dull scent of her perfume still slightly apparent. Other times on the drive, he had just looked across at her with his intense eyes and held that stare, whilst tracing his fingertips up and down the inside of her thigh. Carrie had had to look away out the window. Upon entering his house, he'd explained briefly about needing to greet and settle the dog and exited to a small yard through a door at the end of his kitchen. He had returned with a glass of water which was now she sipping in silence, as he watched her, back to their slightly awkward pas de deux. 

"I can't read you," he remarked with a half-smile.

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm trying to work out if you've changed your mind."

"What makes you think that?" 

"Could you stand any further away from me?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" she said, standing a little taller, but not closer.

Deep blue eyes glimmered and smiled at her. Quinn turned away from her and walked a few feet towards his bedroom. Pausing, he turned back to face her. Those same glimmering eyes.

"Well? You coming?" he asked, nodding his head in that direction.

"I fucking hope so… And more than once, preferably." She said it confidently, with a straight face. Sarcasm attempting to hide the ball of nervous energy swirling in her gut.

Quinn tried to mask a smirk, but he failed. His lips pressing together between his teeth to choke back a laugh. He nodded towards the bedroom again and held out his arm towards her. She stepped forward and took his hand.

He pulled her inside the room and then with his free hand used his fingertips to trace a line along her collarbone in the direction of her shoulder. Her breath hitched as her slid his index and middle fingers an inch under her bra strap that was poking out just visible next to her silk tank. In that instant she simultaneously thought about: 1. Her terrible choice of practical underwear that evening (getting undressed with Quinn was beyond the realms of possibilities when she got ready for dinner with Max and Shelby hours earlier), as well as 2. The fireworks within her that were exploding with his sensitive touch.

The fingers of her left hand hooked into the top of his jeans and she pulled him close to her. Her right hand grabbing him in between his legs. He gasped, his chin lifting upwards as he closed his eyes for a moment, growing harder under her touch. He looked down at her, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow as Carrie looked up at him with a suggestive smile and eyes that said come-fuck-me.

Almost magnetically, their mouths were drawn together in a bruising of lips and clashing of teeth. Their bodies together, hands everywhere. Carrie, all frenetic grabs, fast and furious. Hands in hair. Gripping taut muscles in a show of possessive need for the other. He stood on her foot. She accidentally scratched his neck with a ring she was wearing. It became clumsy and desperate. She was trying to unbutton his shirt whilst sucking on his neck and kicking her heels off. It was Quinn to push back.

"Hey, hey, hey… stop, stop," he said puffing, lips red and sore and endorphins racing.

"What's wrong?" She looked up at him. Nervous. Embarrassed.

"Let's slow this down, ok?" His hands on her shoulders, he guided her down onto his bed and began undressing her. He continued to delicately kiss her. "I want to… do you… slowly" he growled, in between mouthfuls of her. "Oh my god Carrie, you are so fucking beautiful". When he found the scar on her upper left arm, he paused, kissed it gently and whispered, "I'm so sorry about that".

Carrie's sexual encounters had more often than not been frantic, desperate and at times rough and urgent. Certainly with Brody it had been all in, fast and hectic, primal. Quinn's excruciating pace was leaving her on the edge of despair. She was not used to such slow, careful and considered attention. To this painstaking tempo. This torture. The achingly gentle way he explored every inch of her skin. Never before had her nipples felt this sensitive, a surge of electricity with every kiss, every suck. Her body was on fire. She ran her hands over his incredibly toned body. His arms were fucking amazing. Each time she moved to hasten the tempo, roll her hips faster or deeper, he grinned and said "Not yet", using his strength to pin her down and went even slower. He'd waited long enough for this and was determined to make it last. Enjoy every small moment. Until he was at the point of no return. The sound of his surrender amidst her gasping cries took her to a place other-worldly.

Quinn had been apprehensive. He was still haunted by the sounds from within a dingy motel room at Chaptico Bay from years earlier. He was desperate to erase that memory and create a new one that sounded different. One that now included _his_ name which she barely managed to moan when he had his lips and tongue between her legs. 

They now lay breathless, side by side. Her body feeling like it was melting into the mattress as she lay trembling on her back, arms outstretched. She thought of the floating girl, and the weightless feeling of bliss. Her eyes closed, she felt a light blanket pull over her, arms wrap around her, and a warm and delicate kiss to her temple. Perfection.

They lay in his bed in the dark silently, the room illuminated by the night sky coming in through the window. Her head was resting on his chest.

"You can't stay, can you?" he asked quietly, while caressing her hair with his right hand, and tracing circles on her back with his left.

"No," Carrie responded, regret in her voice. "Maggie expects me back. I told her I was just going to dinner. It’s a lot later than I suggested I’d be." She sighed then continued, with an element of shyness in her voice. "But… I would like that, if we… if there is a next time…?"

"Oh, there is _definitely_ going to be a next time," Quinn stated with cocky confidence, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down with a stupid grin before bringing his lips to hers. He broke away, and reached down to the floor beside him, fumbling around, returning to their embrace with his phone in hand. Carrie watched him with curiosity as he opened the camera function and held it out above them, as he kissed the side of her face. She squealed. 

"What are you doing?" she laughed. Quinn pulled his other arm from under her and started tapping away further on the device. 

"Taking a sweaty, sexy selfie," he murmured, then put the phone down on the table beside the bed, after it made a familiar 'swoosh' sound. "I've sent it to Max," he said with a serious voice.

"What??!!" Carrie exclaimed, imagining the horror on Max's face and sensing Quinn's perverse enjoyment of making him feel uncomfortable.

He laughed. "I'm kidding. I sent it to you, gorgeous," he said sweetly, cupping her face between his two hands and gently kissing her again. 

"I really did not expect this would be how my night would end up," Carrie said dreamily, looking up at the ceiling.

"Neither." 

"You were fucking _pissed_ to see me there at dinner tonight, weren't you?" Carrie joked.

"I was not prepared, let's say that."

"You made that pretty clear," she snorted.

"Sorry, but I bared my soul to you the other day and you gave me nothing," Quinn rebuked. "I was hurting". He nuzzled his nose into her soft neck and kissed below her earlobe. "Forgive me."

"Lucky for you…. You are very good at sex," Carrie murmured lustily into his mouth.

"I have not even started with you yet, Carrie," he said in a low voice, growing hard again as he reached down between her legs.

"Argh stop! … I really need to go," she said regretfully, pulling away before things got any steamier and delaying her exit further.

She got up and retrieved her clothes from across the room. As she dressed, she glanced down at his naked torso, as he lay lazily and contently spread across the bed, his arms folded behind his head. She'd seem them earlier, but only now was she really able to see the significant scars across his abdomen. The largest extended across half his body. Under the moonlight it looked like a stream of liquid mercury that had slid across him. The frightening reality of how close he had clearly come to death was never more evident. 

Following her eyes and reading her facial expression, Quinn's body and expression stiffened. Suddenly feeling exposed, completely vulnerable and naked (which, yes - he was), he instinctively sat up on the side of the bed and looked down at the floor. Carrie sank down next to him and enveloped him in an enormous hug. His rigid body softened and then he twisted so that his arms could embrace her. They held each other tightly and their breathing slowly synchronized. 

"I missed you so much" she whispered fiercely into his shoulder. She felt his arms hug her tighter. 

"You should go," he said quietly, "you're going to need those baby-sitting credits another night."

He kissed her goodbye at his front door as the taxi pulled up. On her lips first, then her forehead, his hands on either side of her face.

"Carrie," he called out as she neared the vehicle. She turned. He looked to be about to say something, but instead closed his mouth and raised his hand in a half wave.

 _I love you too_ , she thought, as she smiled at him, returned the wave and got in the car.

\---

She lay in her bed that night sated, contented, her heart bursting. Overwhelmed by the evening's turn of events. She gazed at the photo he'd sent her. Slightly blurry. The flash making her skin look horrible and blotchy, but - beside from that - the pure and simple joy on her face, mid-laugh, and Quinn's gorgeous face kissing her cheek. It was a moment captured that brought her unexpected but complete fulfilment. She hugged the phone into her chest and shut her eyes.

There was no returning from this feeling. And in equal parts, that scared the shit out of her as well as got her horny all over again.

\---

Across town, Quinn sat at his kitchen table in the dark. Coco's head resting on his knee as the dog loyally sat next to him. He poured two fingers of whiskey. He was too wired to sleep. Buzzing with an all-consuming feeling of something terrifyingly and brilliantly real.

"What the fuck have you done to me Carrie?" he muttered, as he gazed over to the picture of the girl, floating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to [Floating Girl](https://tassiegrammer.com.au/product/floating-girl/) by Jason Futrill for providing the inspiration for this.


	5. Rarely pure, never simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie asks Quinn some questions about his past.

"Can I ask you something?"

He mumbled a noise in response. She was lying in his bed, his arms wrapped around her. Staying the night this time, after Carrie had convinced (and bribed) Maggie about getting help with Franny so she could have an overnight date with Quinn on Friday. She had seen the slight concern in Maggie's eyes. She'd packed an overnight bag, kissed Franny goodnight and promised to be back by midday the next day. Sex, dinner, then more sex followed. Now in the warmth and sweetness of his sleepy embrace, Carrie took a gamble.

"That story you told the other night, with Max. About your childhood and about how you were recruited. How much of that is true?"

She felt his chest rise as he took a deep breath. "There is a lot in that question, Carrie."

"I know."

He did not respond immediately, thinking. The darkness in the room gave him a sense of confidence to speak. No eye contact required. "I don't remember exactly what I said. I didn’t have a fairy tale childhood but I knew no different. Had to fend for myself. I've considered myself an orphan for most of my life." 

"Are both your parents dead?"

"Mother, yes. Father cleared out so don't know. May as well be." 

"Siblings?"

"Half-sister. A few years older than me."

"Are you in touch with her?"

"No idea where she ended up."

"Have you looked? Don't you want to? She's your sister."

"Carrie," he responded with the tiniest hint of frustration. "I haven't, probably for the same reason you don't you have a relationship with your half-brother." Carrie remained silent. "And the same reason Franny doesn't have a relationship with Brody's kids." More silence. He hugged her tighter. "Because this shit is complicated and you know that."

"Yeah… I'm just so sorry that you grew up so lonely." 

"I'm not special. There are hundreds of thousands of kids in the system. I just happened to be one of them."

"And how you met Dar. Was that all true?" 

"I never mentioned his name." 

"You didn't have to."

"Not much more to tell Carrie." He paused for a short while before deciding to continue. Careful, of course, with his choice of information. 

"I was living on the street at that point. Getting in trouble. Dar liked the look of me for a… for a certain mission. I was fed a lot of bullshit. Things I wanted to hear so they could recruit me. Like about how I could start a new life, which I wanted. At the time, I thought I was bad ass and could keep up with them. I was sixteen though. A skinny, smart ass kid who was just fucking scared." 

She could tell Quinn was venturing into territory that made him uncomfortable. The way he was gripping her. The slightly haunted tone to his voice.

"But the Group gave me some purpose. Dar was a consistent male figure in my life that I hadn't had for a very long time. I wanted to impress him, the other guys. Big talk, you know? He looked out for me though, when I needed him to. Has done so. When I didn't know I needed him to." 

Carrie was appalled and had to bite her tongue. _If this is not Stockholm Syndrome, I don't know what is_ , she thought. 

"I still speak with Dar." He said it slowly, in a very measured way. He knew this would result in some fireworks.

Carrie pressed her lips together and looked away. "Fucking… _why_ Quinn??" 

He opened his mouth, slightly shaking his head, but before he could speak, Carrie continued.

"What’s he trying to do? Get you back?" 

"No, I can’t go back," Quinn dismissed with ridicule. "Even if I wanted to I wouldn’t pass the psych. Plus I’m missing a vital organ. Ops work would be off the cards."

"But, he wants you back at the Agency." Her tone was suggestive.

"No. He just… checks in on me from time to time."

"What’s 'time to time'? When did he last 'check in'?" Carrie spat out these words, disgusted. There was no hiding her feelings now.

"I dunno. August maybe." 

"But why?" 

Quinn shrugged. "Guilt probably. Boredom maybe. Some fucked up sense of responsibility about the Group looking after its own."

"Power, manipulation, control! Fucking hell… This guy has ruined your life, Quinn. Why are you apologizing for him?"

"Stop!" he commanded. "Enough." His voice breaking ever so slightly. He pressed the heel of the palm of his free hand against his forehead.

Carrie waited a few moments in silence before speaking. "I have another question. Different topic, though."

"Ok." Quinn sighed and wondered what direction she was going to take now. He did not want to talk anymore about Dar. Did not want to re-visit his hellish memories of Syria. Dreaded anything about his mental health battle.

"Do you ever see your son?"

"No."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"A very long time ago."

"How old is he now?"

Quinn sighed loudly and painfully. "About the same age as the kid I killed in Caracas."

Carrie wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him in. She was aware that her questions were opening up old, but still very real, wounds.  
"His mother?"

"Geez Carrie, you don't miss a beat. What about her?"

"Were you… together? Married? Or was it a…" Carrie couldn't put a word on the type of relationship she was describing. After all, how would she define the type of relationship she and Brody had when she fell pregnant? 

"We were together. It just didn't, couldn't work out. I couldn't give her what she needed. What the baby would have needed." Carrie remained silent. "She's married now," Quinn continued. "Has another kid. My boy's never known any different. He's got a better life than what I could have provided. Calls someone else Dad."

"Does that hurt?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. But a lot of things hurt."

She tilted her head and reached her hand up to the side of his face, kissing him gently. She wanted to kiss away the pain. He responded openly and rolled in towards her, combing his fingers through her hair.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, now feeling encouraged by her affection and closeness.

"When did you first… when did you start to like me?" Carrie asked with a grin.

"Mmm. A long time ago. Before Franny was born." 

"Really?" She did not hide the shock in her voice.

"You never noticed, huh?"

"No," she whispered. Her mind went back to moments, memories, times from another life. Sifting through files in her brain looking for hints, indications of something she'd been oblivious to.

"Your focus was elsewhere." Quinn's statement needed no explanation. 

"So all this time…?"

"All this time," he kissed her head.

"And so when you reached out to me earlier this year, when you started messaging me... Is this what you had in mind? Was me here in your bed the end game?"

He could not read her tone, whether this was a joke or serious.

"Hmmm, it's definitely something I thought about," he laughed. "But… You were on the other side of the world, Carrie. I had no idea what to expect. You're not exactly a predictable person. But… I knew I missed you. And thought it was worth a shot. And as for my end game. You're just gonna have to wait and see." He maneuvered his head and tilted her chin up to kiss her.

"One last question."

"Go on."

"Why did you not wait for my answer?" Of course, from her position Carrie could not see Quinn roll his eyes and grit his teeth. He was annoyed that she was dragging this one up out of the archives, again. Fuck.

"You could have saved a lot of suffering, all of _this_ ," she said as she rubbed her hand over the scars under his ribs.

He responded in a terse tone. "We're both stubborn people Carrie. They needed me. You needed space, time. I committed before I knew much about the mission. Thought it'd be a few weeks. It wasn't. And it doesn’t matter now. Am I a fool? Probably. Did I think I was making the right call at the time? Yes. Can we draw a line under this one now? Please?"

"Yes, ok. I'm sorry," she said, regretting bringing it up.

Five minutes or so passed. Carrie was drifting peacefully off towards sleep but Quinn had other plans. He'd been chewing on this for the past 15 minutes. Whether to throw it in as a bonus answer to one of her earlier questions or not. He felt like he was standing with a grenade in his hand, having pulled the pin. He needed to detonate it. Get this shit over and done with. Then deal with the consequences. He wasn’t looking forward to the fall out.

"Carrie?" he asked in a strangled voice. 

"Hmm?"

"There's something else." 

She held her breath. His voice had shifted tone. His body had become tense.

"My name." He'd kind of hoped she'd have brought it up, asked about it, but she hadn't. It was up to him now, but it felt like a suicide mission.

"Oh my god…" She propped herself up on her elbow to face him in the dark. "What's your name?" She whispered this with dread.

"Peter Quinn."

"What is your legal name?" Tones of anger now.

"Peter Quinn, now."

"But you weren't _born_ Peter Quinn." Yes, definite anger.

"No."

"Are you even from Philly?" She asked this question knowing full well what the answer must be.

"No." It sounded like he was being suffocated. He was doing this to himself.

"No Harvard then." This was not a question but a statement said mostly to herself.

"No."

"So it was… _you_ were all… a lie." 

"Surely Carrie, you knew… you expected this." 

She lay back down and returned her head to his chest, reeling. Quinn noticed she was breathing heavily and he was gripping onto her tightly. She could hear the loud thumping inside his chest. Again, in the safety and welcome anonymity of darkness he spoke the truth. How he grew up in Baltimore. Was baptized with a different name. Spent sixteen years with that name. How he was naively happy to assume a new identity after being recruited by Dar, as he wanted nothing of his shitty life. But how he occasionally had still used the name John when it suited him, when he needed to escape from his new reality. Needed to be someone else. Not an assassin. When he hooked up with girls or sat alone in a bar chatting to a random barman. 

"I wanted to be honest. Didn't seem right for you to have only part of the story," he murmured, referencing the background on being recruited and his family. He could feel her warm, wet tears on his chest. She did not speak, but remained in his tight embrace. He knew there was a very good chance of Carrie getting up and walking out on him, or tearing him apart with angry words. But neither happened. Yet, he feared.

He felt like he'd gone through his exit interviews all over again. Carrie's impassive reaction to it all freaking him out. 

They lay together in the dark, without speaking, both awake for a very long time. Dread enveloped him as he waited silently for Hurricane Carrie's landfall. Eventually, after a very long time, he surrendered to sleep.

\-----

They'd set an alarm, having originally planned to go out for breakfast before Carrie returned home. They'd not had much sleep, but stumbled into the shower together in silence.

He looked at her as they stepped under the water. "Are we good?" he asked her. He looked wounded. His voice choking.

"We're great" she responded, reaching up and running her hands through his hair. He didn't quite believe her.

He looked at her apologetically, guiltily. Quinn knew, from bits and pieces that Carrie had said, that Saul's betrayal had a devastating impact on her. Maybe it was his emotions and exhaustion getting the better of him, but he feared that his honesty would result in a similar avalanche of anger, bitterness and ultimately end with her walking away.

Carrie was searching in his eyes. They were sunken, he looked exhausted. She stroked the sides of his face as he closed his eyes as the water sprayed over them. 

"What is going on in there?" Carrie asked kindly.

"Please just… I just wanna get it over with."

"What over with?"

"You haven't said anything about all the… stuff I told you. And I feel like I'm waiting for you to… blow up."

Carrie looked at him quizzically.

"Your calmness is disconcerting," Quinn stated. 

"Would it make you feel better if I was mad?"

"Maybe. I didn't purposefully lie to you Carrie."

"I know. I appreciate that you told me. I know that would have taken strength."

"God you make me sound so pathetic."

"Shhh," she put a finger to his lips. "But… do I still call you Peter Quinn?"

"Don’t change anything you're doing." 

"Ok then."

"So, we're good?" he asked again.

"That's what I said."

"I just, I think I have made things weird."

"You are making things weird _now_. Enough talking… Peter Quinn." She kissed him as she reached to take him in her hand. 

And so somehow they ended up having awkward shower sex. This time it was all eyes and heat. Breathing in each other's air. Their eyes completely locked together. Not leaving the other's gaze the entire time. Its intensity and meaning fuelled by permission, forgiveness. Healing. 

Afterwards, as they dried, Quinn still appeared on edge. 

Before returning to the bedroom, Carrie paused and said, "Relax… I still love you".

And then she turned away, almost immediately. Quinn seeing the beginnings of a smile in the corner of her mouth before she disappeared out of the bathroom.

He wordlessly stumbled back into bed after her, emotionally and physically drained, their plans for breakfast seemingly abandoned. He enveloped her in his arms again and hid his face in her hair. _She still loves me._

\-----

The ringtone of her cell phone woke her. Completely unaware of the time, she took a moment to piece together where she was. 

"Oh shit," she muttered when she saw the time and registered the consequences. "We just slept another four hours!"

Quinn stirred and stretched. "I'm starving," he yawned. 

"I've gotta go. I'm meant to be taking over from Maggie. And taking Franny to buy new boots."

"I'd make you coffee, but it wouldn't meet your standard I'm sure…" he said, as Carrie was running through his hall, collecting her jacket, finding her shoes.

"No time, sorry," she called, before pausing at his bedroom door, looked in at him and said, "Unless… Get dressed. You're coming."

\-----

Shopping for children's shoes is torturous at the best of times. But particularly when practical winter boots are required and the child is preferring to try on ridiculous sparkly and bejeweled Mary Janes. Carrie attributed Quinn's silence and dull mood on the fact that she'd dragged him here on his Saturday afternoon. He'd planned to go work out but agreed in the end to give this day a miss. Carrie wouldn't be in town forever. 

They craved the other's touch and closeness. As they walked round the mall Carrie held Quinn's hand. He would wrap his arm around her shoulder when they paused to look in a store window. Then at one point, Franny came and took Quinn's hand in hers as they walked. He looked across at Carrie and she looked back at him. 

While Carrie was settling the payment for Franny's new boots, Franny had a complete meltdown, insistent that her mother also purchase the 'princess' shoes which Carrie flat-out refused to do. It was the type of tantrum which turns heads and raises people's eyebrows. Unless you're a parent yourself, and then it's just a knowing glance of sympathy and camaraderie to the child's parent. 

Carrie seemed frustrated but not horrified at the scene unfolding behind her. Quinn however, had a look of sheer panic in his eyes. Carrie was making no move to placate her daughter, ignoring the shrill scream and demands. 

He went over and picked Franny up and held her close, speaking in a low and quiet voice to her. Franny all the while in hysterics, wrapped her arms round his neck tightly. He carried her out of the store and walked away.

The cashier made a comment to Carrie about how much little girls love their daddies. Carrie just gave a tight smile.

Carrie could not find them when she exited the shoe store. Eventually she spotted them looking in the window of a pet store. Franny now happily distracted, Quinn squatting down at her eye level, smiling and talking to her.

\-----

The three of them went for burgers afterwards.  
Carrie set Franny up to watch cartoons on her cell phone while they ate. "No judgement from you, thank you," she'd warned Quinn. 

"You were really good with her earlier. Thank you."

"Does that kinda thing happen often?" he asked curiously.

"Thankfully not. She is strong-willed. When she gets her mind on something she's determined to get her own way."

"You don't say."

"I know what you're thinking," remarked Carrie, suspiciously.

"No you don't," he laughed.

"You know that's just typical four year old behavior, right? It's not some… manic episode or anything related to my condition," Carrie explained, seeking reassurance. 

"Oh Carrie, I was not thinking anything remotely along those lines." She raised her eyebrows. "I was reflecting on her determination. Your determination." 

She picked at her halloumi burger as she thought about how the afternoon had played out. The three of them doing something so randomly family-esque. The comment from the lady at the store. Quinn's face when witnessing Franny's spiral. 

"Sorry, this has probably not been the way you wanted to spend your Saturday," she muttered.

"Yeah, I skipped leg day for this."

"It was stupid, I shouldn't have dragged you along."

"I recall it was _Franny_ dragging _me_ a lot of the time," he said pointedly.

"What's more challenging, special ops or four year-olds?"

"Both challenging. But neither as tedious as having to spend half an hour in a children's shoe store," he said, before shoveling the last of his fries in his mouth.

"Ouch." 

He cleaned his fingers on his napkin before reclining into his booth seat, smiling.  
"Relax… I still love you."

Carrie looked at him with a knowing and slightly amused smile. Meaning exchanged through their locked gaze.

Without breaking eye contact with her, Quinn reached across the table and grabbed three of her fries. "You going to eat these, or what?"

(To be continued…)  
\---


	6. The higher you climb, the harder you'll fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimpses into situations, occasions, moments and reflections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - This chapter is waaaay longer than I expected it to be.  
> Sorry not sorry.

And so, they were inside out.

All the terrible shit, dirty laundry and bitter truths were already on display. Their damage out in the open, acknowledged and accepted. Dating in the conventional sense would not have worked. No courtship was required to woo the other. It had all been done years earlier in a hail of gunfire, across safe houses, surveillance ops, heated arguments and her getting her way, again and again. Going to the movies now would have been strange and awkward. Turning up on the doorstep with flowers, completely laughable.

It was within the everyday things that they found their rhythm and hum. A simpatico. Going to the grocery store. Chasing after the dog and the little girl at the park. Ordering in and sitting curled up on the sofa watching old famous movies they'd never seen. They found comfort in each other's silence but were fiercely protective of the other when in company. It was easy and effortless. And the sex was pretty amazing.

They were also united in the way that neither of them would address or acknowledge that Carrie would be returning to Sydney in a matter of weeks. It was easier that way. A 'we'll cross that bridge when we come to it' approach silently adopted by them both.

A curse had been lifted. Quinn could breathe. It was a euphoric feeling. He felt dangerously invincible. Unnaturally healthy. On top of the world. Carrie was like the morning sun shining from behind a dark curtain, a brilliance of light at the edges. She made him feel human. Whole again.

Those things in life for 'other people' that he'd previously considered unattainable, maybe, just maybe, might now be possible.  
A future. A life. With her.

\-----

"I think I'm going to take Franny to the cabin for a few nights," Carrie mentioned to Maggie one evening while they were preparing dinner.

Her sister's eye snapped up from the chopping board. "Just Franny?" she asked, pointedly. Carrie looked at her but did not respond.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Maggie asked.

"Is it a _bad_ idea?"

"Well," she sighed, "I am just wondering how all this looks to Franny."

"All what?"

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "Your holiday fling."

"It's not a fling. You know that."

"What else can it be Carrie?"

"You think this is bad for me."

"I didn't say that."

" _Do_ you think this is bad for me?"

"I don't think _he_ is bad for you. I like him very much. But I just don't know where the relationship - if you want to call it that - can go."

"He's great with Franny. She adores him." 

"I never suggested otherwise. I'm talking about what happens when you leave at the end of the month."

"You think I'm going to get my heart broken, don't you?"

"Not just yours," Maggie muttered, chopping the carrots now with additional force.

Carrie assumed Maggie was referring to her daughter. But in fact, Maggie meant Quinn himself. 

\-----

Maggie liked Quinn. She really did. But she was frustrated by this situation for Carrie. She could not imagine what could possibly come of the relationship when they lived at opposite ends of the world. Maggie would have liked nothing more than for Carrie to move back to the US but did not want her sister to make a hasty decision off the back of a two week old relationship. Things were going so well for her out there, Maggie wanted to see her finish what she started. It was important to Maggie for Carrie to prove to herself that she could have a successful career outside the CIA, live independently and be a happy and confident mother.

Maggie could see that Quinn was an agreeable person. Could see the devotion in his eyes. Had seen it back then, years ago when they first met. It hadn't changed. Well, it had - it had become deeper.

So, Maggie would loudly throw in subtle (or not so) one-liners about Carrie's impending departure into conversations about anything. About how Franny was going on a big airplane in three weeks' time. Comparisons about the weather, and how in a matter of weeks Carrie and Franny would be at the beach while the rest of the family would be seeing snow. Or, how the family only had twenty / sixteen / twelve more days of them staying and then Carrie wouldn't be back for _an entire year_!

It was grating on Carrie's nerves, but she refused to play into it, turning a blind eye (and ear) to the comments. Largely because her sister was stating the obvious and it was, you know, the bridge that they'd cross when they came to it. 

One day Maggie made a more than obvious remark in Quinn's presence.

"Subtle, Maggie, very subtle," he mentioned quietly to her as he walked past. He was painfully aware of the looming date when Carrie would leave, but - like Carrie - was choosing to ignore it for now. Their unspoken agreement. He'd deal with the aftermath later. 

"Peter, all I'm saying is that - "

"Yeah, I'm not stupid Maggie. And neither's Carrie."

Another time, he was witness to a bickering episode where Maggie was chastising Carrie for something unimportant, using a tone usually reserved for her teenage daughters. Carrie looked over at him, exasperated, her shoulders slumped and shaking her head in frustration. Quinn gave her a sympathetic look and silently mouthed the words I love you to her from across the room. He had a way of making everything and everyone around her disappear, so it was just them alone in the world. Like nothing else mattered. He didn't say those words out loud very often. Neither did she. 

Then Maggie's comments started about how Carrie had come out to spend time with 'the family', and that she was spending a lot of time doing 'other things'. "I've hardly seen you!" or "Out with Peter, _again?_ ".

It made Carrie not think twice about escaping to the cabin.

\-----

Carrie picked up Quinn from outside his office, before collecting Coco and driving out of suburbia in the dark. Carrie and Quinn would speak to each other in broken, stilted Arabic if they did not want Franny to overhear something. They were both out of practice but were semi-successful. Many times, they ended up in stiches of laughter from how wrong they were getting it.

On the first morning Carrie awoke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of muffled voices coming from the kitchen. She got up and pulled on a sweater. As she approached, she heard Quinn and Franny happily chatting about where maple syrup comes from (trees not bees). She stood back and listened for a minute before entering their line of sight. "Mommy, look we are having pancakes!" Franny announced. Carrie smiled, rubbed Quinn's back and kissed his shoulder.

It was cold, but the days were clear. Bright sunshine and crisp air. No snow, which disappointed Franny. She desperately wanted to see snow. 

When the day warmed up a little, they bundled on their coats and boots and headed out for a walk along the water and through the woods. Franny still insisted on wearing a princess dress but Quinn by now had come to accept this as standard attire. Quinn pulled out some binoculars and a compass. They reached a rocky outcrop near the water and he sat there with the young girl, demonstrating infinite patience, helping her understand how to navigate. Carrie watched as Quinn whispered in Franny's ear, pointing to things in the trees, on the ground, by the water. 

Carrie stood back and watched on with a sense of pained wonder. A collision of forces. Franny had never had a father figure in her life. The denied opportunity for Quinn to be father to his son. The adoration from her daughter was evident and Quinn appeared to be quietly enjoying himself. 

When Franny's legs tired, Quinn carried her on his shoulders. She called him her knight and Quinn started calling her Princess.

Carrie allowed Quinn to chop wood and start the fire. Chores she was perfectly capable of doing on her own but watching him do it was a complete turn on for her. 

It felt oddly familiar and achingly comfortable, the three of them (plus the dog) playing house. Playing Scrabble by the fire, complete with arguments about whether 'qibla' was a permitted word. Quinn reading Franny a story about a boy and a lost penguin, while Carrie washed the dishes but was secretly listening along. Carrie and Quinn sitting outside at night staring up at the stars in the black, black sky. Not talking, just being. Their gloved fingers interlaced. 

He'd been there before, of course. He thought about that, briefly, until he forced it from his mind. Whether that was a moment, _the_ moment, when he started to think about her differently. He'd made a life-altering decision that day. Not pulling the trigger. 

\------

Quinn called her one Wednesday morning to ask if she'd like to join him that night at a friend's birthday celebration. The invitation came as a slight thrill to Carrie, but also somewhat terrifying. Being debuted to his friends. It was probably as close to a date as she was going to get. He downplayed it though, suggesting it was just some friends from his gym and that it would be boring and tedious, he just wanted to make an appearance, didn't want to go alone blah blah blah. It did not stop Carrie changing her mind three times about what she was going to wear.

The bar they arrived at was far less fancy than Carrie had imagined, and she immediately regretted her outfit choice.  
"I think I've overdressed," she said nervously, removing her coat and feeling self-conscious in the colorful wrap dress she was wearing.

"I don't… you look hot," he said seductively into her ear and then made her blush and look away with his piercing stare. He did that, made her feel like the most desirable person in the world. Gave her _that_ look that said a thousand words without saying any out loud. The look that said I want to rip your clothes off and make you scream. But as quick as those looks came, they went again, almost as if she imagined them. 

She felt somewhat nervous walking into this big group of people who knew one another. Plus, Carrie was completely taken aback at Quinn's transformation into a jovial, chatty guy in their company. Upon their arrival there was backslapping, high fives and - the one which surprised Carrie the most and made her giggle - they all called him Pete or Petey.

"Gill!" Called Quinn, towards a tall guy with dark hair and a manicured beard. "Happy birthday, my friend!"

"You made it!" the guy replied with excitement. 

"I'd like you to meet Carrie" Quinn said warmly, with his arm around her waist.

Gill looked back and forward between Quinn and Carrie.  
"Ahh! And _you_ must be the Australian!" he remarked with a devilish grin, putting his arm around Carrie's shoulders. Carrie laughed nervously as Quinn raised his hand to cover his eyes, clearly uncomfortable.

"Ah, yes! Maybe?" Carrie responded cautiously, looking now at Quinn in amusement. "Am I?"

Before Quinn could respond, Gill called some people around him to attention and introduced Carrie as "Pete's girlfriend" which made her catch her breath and avoid his eyes. He'd not used the title, someone else had. 

"So, you've been talking about me, huh?" she asked coyly, when no one could hear her.

"I may have mentioned you a couple of times." 

"Oh really?" She asked with a sly grin and a tilt of the head. He leaned down and kissed her.

When Quinn went off to the bar another guy took over as Carrie's minder. "I think your boy's broken a few hearts here tonight, honey," he said. Carrie looked at him quizzically. "Now the girls _know_ he's officially off the market," he said.  
"We weren't sure if you were real," a young woman added. 

It had never occurred to Carrie that Quinn may have a bevy of female admirers. Well, except perhaps for Astrid. But that was a lifetime ago in what now felt like a parallel universe. Now looking across at the group he was talking with, Carrie observed the young women and wondered which of them were in love with him. If he'd dated any of them. 

Carrie and Quinn spent most of the night in separate conversations. People wanted to talk to her. Quinn would catch her eye across the crowd every so often and smile, make gestures to see if she needed another drink, and when walking past he'd be sure to touch her in some way. An arm wrapping around her from behind. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on her neck. 

Throughout the night it was interesting to Carrie to observe Quinn in such a relaxed environment. He was smiling, laughing. She'd not seen him interact socially with groups of people outside the agency. Despite his joking from earlier, it was evident to Carrie these people were good friends, that they'd had many nights together at this bar or others. 

They decided to make their exit when things were escalating rapidly for those remaining. 

"So, when's the wedding?" asked a drunken Gill as they were saying their goodbyes. Reading Carrie's face, he said, "Ooh, sorry, too soon? I'm kidding. Actually, I'm not. Will it be in Australia? Can I come to Australia?" He had an arm around both Carrie and Quinn's shoulders.

"Don't book your ticket just yet," she replied patting him on the back.

"That's it. You're staying. We're keeping you!" Gill announced pulling Carrie back into the venue.  
Carrie looked over at Quinn with a look that said WTF. He just smiled and shrugged. 

Outside on the street, Carrie laughed. "Wow. Your friends are spirited."

"They were, uh… excited to meet you."

"You think??"

"I'm sorry if it was painful."

"Not at all, I had fun. It was nice seeing you like that."

"Like what?"

"Well… just all relaxed and having fun. Joking. Laughing. It's a side of you I want to get to know more." She gave his arm a squeeze.

Quinn thought about that for a moment. It was true. For so long he'd been completely guarded and relentlessly angry. Being a civilian was relatively new to him. Developing friendships, letting his guard down and trusting people. Being able to stand in that place with those people without hyperventilating from crushing anxiety and fear. Seeing shadows in the corner and accepting them for what they were. Shadows in the corner, nothing more sinister.

"Yeah, me too," he mumbled.

"So, am I your girlfriend, then?" Carrie asked cheekily as they walked along.

Quinn groaned inwardly. "You are many things Carrie. If you want a title that goes along with social norms then, sure, girlfriend is good."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

He looked up to the night sky with a sense of frustration. He knew he was never going to get this conversation right in the way she wanted.  
"It means… you are the love of my life. My best friend. The most frustrating but most amazing and beautiful person I know. 'Girlfriend' does not do you justice."

 _Yep_ , thought Carrie. _That's an ok answer._

He pulled her up against a wall. "And… I'm not ready for this to end," he whispered, his lips close to hers. 

"The night is still young," she replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

He maintained a smile but the light in his own eyes faded. That's not what he'd meant. She read his thoughts and brought her hand up to the side of his face.

"I'm not either," she whispered.

But - they discussed it no more as his lips came crushing down on hers instead.

\-----

Carrie's next introduction to people in Quinn's life came at the weekend when they spent an afternoon and evening at Luke and Beth's house. His friends he'd spent Thanksgiving with. Luke, the ex-solider he'd met in the hospital. It was pretty much the equivalent of meeting the parents. 

The couple had two daughters, aged seven and four. Beth had been heavily pregnant with their second daughter when a roadside bomb in southern Afghanistan took out a number of guys in Luke's section, along with Luke's legs. Quinn explained to Carrie that his physical recovery and rehabilitation, whilst lengthy, was then followed by a downwards mental spiral into a very dark and dangerous place. Which is how he and Quinn had met each other. 

The afternoon was enjoyable. Franny was in heaven playing with kids her age. They were building a fort out of sheets and blankets in the girls' bedroom. The sisters were intrigued by their guest with the curious accent who commanded attention despite her young age. 

The four adults sat around a table and played cards and talked shit. Belly laughs and good, honest fun. It was evident from their playful banter and how they enjoyed pushing each other's buttons that Quinn and Luke shared a close relationship. Carrie like Beth very much. She was younger than Carrie but seemed to have an old soul. No doubt being a military wife, and one who'd endured so much, basically bringing up their daughters alone for a good number of years, there was a toughness about her. No bullshit.

Luke and Quinn were out in the yard after dinner, smoking cigarettes while sitting on the swing-set in the chilly December air.

"They're close, huh?" Carrie asked Beth, whilst watching the two men from the kitchen window. 

"Oh yeah, they're tight, and they drink too much when they're together. It's strange. With all the therapy and doctors and drugs, it's Pete who has probably had the single biggest impact on Luke. He's got two younger sisters. Pete's like the older brother he never had. I think they've helped each other heal. They both survived things that others didn't. Both lost the will to live…" Beth's voice trailed off. "I thought Luke getting his new legs would magically cure everything, even what was going on in his head. But that's when it got worse. He found Pete at the right time." 

"Seems like they found each other," Carrie said softly.

"I've not seen Pete looking this happy before. You bring out the best in him," Beth commented to Carrie.

Carrie gave a half smile. The thought of what would happen next, after Christmas, had been on her mind as the afternoon and evening had progressed. 

"So, what's your plan? Do you see yourself living over there long-term?" It was as if Beth could read her mind.

"Did he put you up to this?" Carrie asked nervously.

"No, quite the opposite. He gave us both strict instructions to not bring anything like this up. But… I'm curious, and so I'm asking." Beth folded her arms across her chest and leant back against the kitchen island, expectantly.

Carrie gave a nervous laugh and then realized that Beth was waiting for her response.  
"Look, it's not something that Peter and I have really discussed in depth yet, so I really don't think I should be commenting-"

Beth interrupted her.  
"You should discuss it. I think he's scared to ask you about it." Carrie noticed the protective tone in Beth's voice and the serious look on her face. _Fuck they really care about him_ , she thought. 

As they were leaving, Carrie noticed Luke embrace Quinn and speak quietly into his ear and then ruffle his hair. Both men grinning. Quinn nodding, before glancing sideways across to an intrigued Carrie who was digging her keys from the bottom of her tote bag. Beth and Carrie exchanged numbers, and Beth gave her an open invitation to bring Franny back for a play-date at any time during their visit.

"So, did I pass?" Carrie asked as she was driving Quinn home, Franny in the back-seat about to fall asleep from exhaustion.

Quinn laughed but then looked across at her. "There was never any doubt."

"What'd Luke say to you at the end there?" 

"Nothing."

Carrie left it. But as she drove and looked at the road ahead, she could feel Quinn's gaze upon her.  
"He just told me not to fuck it up."

\-----

Carrie stopped by Quinn's office one day to meet him for lunch. She was waiting for him outside when he sent a text to say he was stuck in a briefing and would be late, but to come upstairs and in out of the cold.

He apologized for keeping her waiting, explaining that one of their deliveries had arrived late. It was a new program the were running. Quinn was coordinating a team of volunteers who were packing emergency back packs for kids who had to move into emergency care. Their board room had been turned into a production line of boxes.  
"The holidays are a really shit time, so we have these bags ready to go for when a kid may need to move somewhere fast. A lot of the time they don't get to pack much, or anything," he explained.

Quinn explained that he sourced the contents of the bags as donations, and his colleagues worked with Child Services to have them distributed.  
Carrie watched as the volunteers put the items into the colorful bags, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, pajamas, teddy bears, books and pencils. Different packs created for different age groups and genders.

"So, this is some of what I do," he said nonchalantly. "It's not glamorous."

"Just heroic," Carrie replied proudly.

"Hardly," he mumbled.

On their way back towards the exit, Quinn introduced her to a few of his co-workers. And as they walked past Quinn's cubicle where he quickly grabbed his wallet and coat, Carrie recognized a drawing of Franny's pinned up on the wall next to his desk. Franny had drawn it for him the week before and had proudly presented it to Quinn saying, "This is you!". It was not discernibly anything much, certainly not a likeness for Quinn. But seeing it there, and she had to do a double take to make sure it _was_ Franny's drawing, seeing that _he'd actually brought it to work and pinned it up_ , stirred within her a very strange emotion.

She did not say anything and followed him back towards the reception area and exit.

\-----

He knew he was past the point of no return. Shit, he'd always felt that way with her. But he was fucked either way. There was no way back from here. He knew, he knew and was constantly reminded of it.

The time she made him watch _The Sound of Music_ when she found out he'd never seen the movie. He was awestruck at her ability to sing all the words to all the songs. Her singing voice was terrible. He sat back and smiled because she didn't care.

The time when he was tickling Franny but then suddenly stopped and asked "I wonder if your Mom is ticklish too?", then chased Carrie around the room until he caught her and brought her down roughly to the floor and prized her forearms away from her torso so he could get into exactly the same spot at the side of her ribs. Carrie squealing and writhing on the floor pleading for him to stop. Franny jumping on the sofa cheering for him to keep going. He had to stay down there to hide the bulge in his jeans. And Carrie's self-satisfied smirk to him as she got back up to her feet, knowing exactly why he was staying on the ground.

The time she danced and sang to Iggy Pop's _Candy_ , wearing one of his t-shirts, her sparkling eyes looking into his as she passionately sang the words to the chorus.

The times he spent awake in bed just watching the soft rise and fall of her naked back as she breathed, asleep on her stomach.

And the times he just marveled in her smile and got lost in the sound of her laughter. He wanted to capture and bottle that joy and inject it into his own veins. Why couldn't he just be happy without pills that told him to be?

They still argued. Still went tit for tat about stupid things, each of them determined to have the last word, determined that they were each right. But these weren't life or death decisions, matters involving national security or drone strikes. The stakes were not high at all. And of course, what he could do now, which he could never do before, was grab her. Kiss her to stop her talking. He enjoyed doing that.

He would sometimes just walk out of a room, returning thirty seconds later simply shaking his head saying "You are fucking unbelievable" with a smile. And Carrie often got her way. Some things never change.

\-----

"How about I take Franny for the afternoon?" Quinn asked her by phone one morning.

"Why?" Carrie asked suspiciously.

"Well, you can have some time to yourself. To spend with Maggie. Go shopping. Take a yoga class. Get a manicure, whatever."

"Quinn, when have you ever seen me with manicured nails?"

"Or don't. Or just go take a nap, I don't care. Come on, let me take her. I want to spend some time with her," he said sweetly. 

Carrie paused, touched by his comment, but Quinn mistook her silence as doubt.

"Ok, it won't be just the two of us. Luke's got his girls alone this afternoon and he's taking them to some winter festival Christmas light show thing. I thought we could tag along. I'll have her back for bedtime, I promise."

Carrie didn't really need convincing and, after a quick chat with Franny, confirmed the arrangement.

Carrie knew she had ground to make up with Maggie, so called her sister to tell her that she was taking her to dinner, just the two of them.  
Carrie met her after work around 4pm and together they did some last-minute Christmas shopping before settling in at a little Italian bistro. They had (still) deliberately avoided discussing Quinn, but Maggie looked at her at one point and put her hand on Carrie's and said, "You know I just want you to be happy. To live your best life, don't you? Wherever that is, and whoever that's with." 

Carrie's eyes got a bit teary, and she gripped Maggie's hand and said "I know. Thank you".

Not long after, Carrie's phone buzzed. She looked down at the screen. It was a message from Quinn, a photo of him holding Franny in front of a large illuminated polar bear. Both of them rugged up in hats and coats. Franny's arms wrapped tightly around Quinn's neck and a big grin on her face. 

Maggie saw Carrie suck in her breath and look at her phone with wide eyes, pressing her lips together.  
"What? What's happened?" Maggie asked with concern.

"Oh nothing. Just this," grinned Carrie. She handed the phone to Maggie to show her the image.

"I'm impressed," Maggie stated, slightly impassively. "Looks like she has him wrapped around her little finger."  
Carrie's heart was exploding and breaking simultaneously.

On their way home she got a message from Quinn.  
*Your princess is tucked in bed and fast asleep. We had fun together. Hope you had a great night*  
He'd left before they arrived back at the house and Carrie was disappointed not to see him.

\-----

Carrie took the train up to New York City very early one morning. As part of her negotiation to get additional vacation days, she'd agreed to spend two days at the firm's NYC headquarters in December. It was a good opportunity to solidify relationships with the SVPs at the firm. She'd originally planned to take Franny with her and find a sitter for the days. But Maggie thought that terribly neglectful and insisted Franny stay behind with the family. 

Carrie did not tell Quinn nor her sister that she'd arranged a meeting with someone from HR to get a feel for contract opportunities stateside after her contract in Sydney was up for renewal in six months' time. Carrie figured it would not hurt to test the water for what might be available. A yearning to return to the US that had not really existed prior to Thanksgiving was now ever-present.

While in New York Carrie also met up with Mira Berenson. 

Carrie had reached out to her when she was feeling confident and generous of spirit. But as she sat and waiting for Mira to arrive at the Enoteca near Mira's Upper East Side apartment she instead felt incredibly nervous and like it was a bad idea.

Mira gave her a warm hug which instantly made Carrie's concerns drift away. They talked a lot about Mira and her work, about what it was like to live in the city, and her upcoming vacation to Barbados. Both women artfully crafted a conversation course that did not veer into any topics that would force either one of them to mention or reference Mira's ex-husband.

Mira asked a lot of questions about Carrie's work. Carrie spoke of how being a mother had relaxed and softened her and helped put things into perspective. She showed Mira some photos of Franny on her cell phone. As she scrolled through them, a picture of Franny together with Quinn appeared. If Mira recognized him, she gave no indication. 

She did however ask shortly thereafter, "Anyone special in your life? Besides Franny?"

Carrie's smile gave it away, but she didn't want to reveal too much. "There might be someone. It's early days." 

"You deserve to be happy, Carrie," Mira said. "Once you stop chasing the wrong things, you give the right ones a chance to catch you."

Carrie smiled and sipped her glass of wine.

\-----

Josie's clarinet recital. Yawn. The entire family were in attendance, including Franny. All except Carrie, despite earlier having promised Josie she'd be there. Josie didn't care but Maggie was furious. Instead, Quinn had come over to Maggie's and cooked Carrie dinner. Now they were curled up together on the sofa, watching the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. Carrie's knees were folded up over his lap and he was giving her the gentlest of foot rubs.

"What do you want? In the future?" she asked him.

He simply looked at her, his eyes ever so slightly moving up and down her body and after a brief pause said, "This."

"This?" she asked.

"Just this," he said simply. "Coming home to you. Cooking dinner for you. Sitting with you. You in your sweats- "

"Sauce on your shirt…?" she offered. Quinn had splashed red pasta sauce on his white business shirt whilst preparing dinner. "I should get some spray on that. It'll never come out," Carrie said whilst examining the stain.

"I think I'll leave it," he replied, taking her hands off his shirt and threading his fingers through hers. _So I can remember this_ , he thought.

"Well, I like the sound of all that. Especially you cooking dinner."

"Then, let's make it happen," he whispered in response. A suggestion, a hope.

She paused and bit her bottom lip for a second, but long enough for Quinn see her stall and begin to pull away from her ever so slightly.

Instantly sensing his shift in gear, she immediately pulled him back into her.  
"Let's make it happen." Her response was spoken into his neck, with certainty, decisiveness and trust. Not a suggestion, but a commitment.

"So… how do we manage that from ten thousand miles?" he asked quietly.  
Here was the bridge. Now to cross it. Carrie was relieved he brought it up so she didn't have to.

"Well… either I'd have to come back here. Or you join me over there. Or we meet somewhere in the middle." Carrie knew her answer was ridiculous. Of course it had to be one of those options.

"Which would be where? Hawaii?" Quinn scoffed.

"Yeah, I guess not," she sighed then swallowed. "My contract finishes in June, and I'm committed to stay in Sydney until then. But after that I could renew and stay on over there, or… I could request a transfer back here."

"Ok," he breathed. "Can I visit you? Before then?" 

Her face lit up. She knew the answer before he even finished asking the question. Once before she'd turned down his offer of flying out to meet her.  
"Oh my god, yes! There is so much I want to show you."

He grinned. And she felt relieved. She leaned back into him and they sat there in comfortable silence. Both thinking. Both nervous to show the other about how happy they each were.

"But tell me. What else?" Carrie asked. "What are your _big_ dreams? You've gotta have some."

He rested his head back and looked up. God, just surviving had been big enough. Getting a job. Goal setting had been about small, attainable milestones. The big and the fancy pipedreams were not things he thought about much. Finally, he responded. His eyes resting at the star on top of the tree.  
"To be unmedicated," he answered solemnly.

She rubbed his arm. "You're doing so well," she said softly.

"And… I'd like to buy some land somewhere. Build a house."

"Really?!" That surprised her. "Where?"

"Nowhere in particular. Anywhere. Somewhere with trees. I'd like to see the seasons change."  
Carrie couldn't help but imagine herself in that house. Amongst those trees. 

"Your turn." He turned his head and looked down at her now. He figured that this was all a set up so that he had to ask her the same question. "What is Carrie Mathison's dream for the future? You'd have a list a mile long, I'm sure."

She looked at him for a moment before answering.  
"A sibling for Franny," she said carefully before averting her eyes. She couldn't look at him. Wouldn't look at him. Quinn stroked her hair slowly and she could feel her heart beating out of her chest.

"Well… my house will have a lot of bedrooms," he responded, tenderly. 

"A lot?" She questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah… at least five. Six maybe." Carrie stared up at him with a slightly stunned and horrified look before he erupted into laughter and pulled her close, embracing her tightly and kissing the top of her head.

\-----

In the days following, as things turned to absolute shit, Carrie often thought back to that conversation on the sofa. 

How she wished she could have bottled that feeling, hit pause there or said or done something different that could have influenced what was to come. There'd been a confidence and certainty that her happy ending was mapped out. She was in love. She felt loved. Their futures were aligned and it could not be more perfect. The words from that song she remembered from her childhood, _Believe it or not, I'm walking on air_ kept playing in her head and she sang it to Franny the next morning while brushing her daughter's curls. Perfection if but for an instant.

Alas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks folks for reading! I hope this isn't totally terrible. This fic has not been behaving… :-/


	7. Position correction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to unravel.

Beginner's luck.  
Second chances.  
Third time's a charm. Or, is it bad things come in threes?

Who the fuck knows.   
There was always some stupid, bullshit rationale to justify things. So that people could feel good about whatever situation they were in.  
He wasn't superstitious. No.

_Julia_ he loved. Honest and pure, before he was broken.  
 _Astrid_ … loved him. He owed her his life, multiple times.  
 _Carrie_ …  
Carrie.

His Achilles heel.   
The niggling ache that followed him around the desert.  
The one who'd found the chinks in his armor and charmed him. Disarmed him.  
The one he'd let in.

The _one_.

He was whistling. You never whistle, one of his co-workers said to him. And he chuckled because he didn't even realize he was doing it. Fuck, was that him laughing? And not laughing in the cynical, derisive sense. But because he was… just so goddamn happy. 

Was it good that she was changing him? That _this_ was changing him?

The pep in his step. The spring in his heels. His optimism?   
Fuck, what was that? 

**optimism**  
 _noun_  
1\. hopefulness and confidence about the future or the success of something.

How foreign a feeling. He didn't know what to do with it.   
Put it in a gilded cage, perhaps?   
Approach with caution?  
Handle with care.  
Not to be trusted.

Was this all artificial? A construct? Make-believe?   
Quinn convinced himself that he couldn’t tell. The cocktail of medication he was prescribed masking his ability to know _for real_.

Carrie.   
Her extraordinary and brilliant mind.  
Her bravery.  
Her beauty.  
That laugh.  
Jesus…

And that gorgeous little human with the strawberry blonde hair she created. The deep, unexpected affection he had for the girl. 

Carrie…  
Carrie.  
Carrie he loves.

So much that it terrified him.

\-----

Quinn awoke to Carrie's calm and steady voice repeating his name, and Coco's nose nudging at his side. He was hunched over Carrie, the heel of his right hand firming pressing into the top of her sternum, his fingers gripping the base of her neck. Her eyes were wide. Her fingertips resting gently on his forearm. Once he registered his environment and his actions he jumped back in horror, disbelief and confusion.

Without speaking he moved backwards and raised his hands to the top of his head. Gasping, he walked around in circles before disappearing into the bathroom. Carrie heard the shower turn on. She let out a breath she felt she'd been holding for a long time. She continued to breathe deeply in an attempt to restore her heartrate to normal, all the while processing what had just occurred. Being awoken by Quinn's hand gripping her neck. A deranged look in his eyes. Saying things that didn't make sense. It had scared the fuck out of her, but what scared her more was what was going on with Quinn. That was not Quinn. Something was not right.

After about five minutes she went and stood at the bathroom door. Quinn was still in the shower, facing away from her, tremoring. She somehow realized there was no steam in the room and it registered that he was standing under cold water.

"Jesus, Quinn!" she cried, reaching in and turning the faucet, getting herself wet in the process. He was shaking and she took his wrist and guided him out.

She ordered him to put some warm clothes on as she went to his kitchen to make him a hot drink. 

When he emerged to the kitchen Quinn walked over to a liquor bottle.  
"Not that. Drink this. Slowly," she said, handing him a mug. He looked at her as he sipped it slowly.

"Did I hurt you?" 

"No, I'm fine" she replied softly.

He lifted her chin up to look at her neck. There were only some faint pink traces. Red crescents marking her skin from where his fingernails had been. _What a monster_ , he thought. 

"I think you should go." His voice was dark.

"No, I think I am going to stay" she said firmly. Carrie could see the fear and anguish in his eyes and couldn't bear leaving him alone.

"Suit yourself, but I'm not going back to bed. And… I don't want to talk about it." It was just before 3am.

"Fine." She turned and walked back to the bedroom. Quinn swallowed as he watched her walk away, only to see her return with a blanket. Carrie found the remote for the TV and plonked herself on the couch. She turned on the TV, arranged the blanket over the top of her and began scrolling through channels. Quinn was sitting at the table hunched over, with his elbows on his knees. She caught him looking at her and simply patted the empty space next to her and held up the blanket. Slowly and reluctantly he rose and made his way over to join her. 

He sat down stiffly until Carrie maneuvered his arms so that they were wrapped around her and she leant back into his chest. She continued to navigate up and down the channels, and with her free hand she gently caressed his forearm. The soft sparse hair. Tried to relax his tense posture. They end up settling on an old Bond film. Before long, Carrie had fallen asleep in his embrace but Quinn stared with vacant eyes towards the screen.

He wasn't there when she woke up. 'Gone for a run' was the scribbled note on the table. It was still dark outside.  
She returned to the bedroom and dozed some more until she heard the front door open and close some time later. She climbed out of bed and joined him in the living room.

"Hey…" 

Quinn cast his eyes in her direction while drinking a glass of water but did not speak.

"You were gone a while," Carrie said, trying to sound casual and relaxed.

He shrugged, not looking at her.

"How far did you run?"

He looked down at his Garmin. "Ten and a half," he muttered. It sounded impressive. He didn't mention that he had to stop three times to vomit and two more times, hunched over dry heaving. He pulled a chair up opposite her on the sofa and took a seat. Her face was soft and forgiving. She reached her hands out to take his, but he had them firmly planted on his knees.

"I'm so sorry," his voice breaking.

"It's ok," she reassured him with a smile.

"It's not _ok_ Carrie. It's not fucking ok!" He was looking at her as if she were mad. "There is no part of what happened that is ok!" 

He stood up now and walked away from her. He appeared to compose himself, took a deep breath and said calmly, "That can't happen again." He was looking at her intently. There was other stuff he was not saying.

"So…?" 

"I need some time."

"What are you saying?" The tingles already were creeping up the back of her throat. 

"That I need some time." His voice was louder now, enunciating the words slowly and carefully as if she didn't understand English.

"But -" 

"Dammit Carrie!" That hostile voice, his warning tone, his eyes cold. He turned away from her and stared out the window. Dawn was breaking.

Carrie nodded and looked down at her hands, thinking. 

The air in the room was electric, charged with tension and words unspoken. After a moment, Quinn turned back around and looked at Carrie who remained seated. Who had not moved. 

"Why the _fuck_ are you still here?!" He yelled, wild rage on his face, his body tense and threatening.  
He'd yelled at her countless times in the past and she'd hardly ever bat an eyelid. When she was being reckless, stubborn or putting herself in danger. It had always rolled off her. But this was deeply personal and the look of contempt and malice in his eyes struck her deep to the core.

Without words Carrie went into his bedroom, found her jeans and pulled them on.   
Retrieved her purse. He could see she was crying at this point. But he remained standing where he was. Made no move towards her.

She didn’t even put shoes on. Just walked outside barefoot and got in the car. She should have felt the biting cold, but she felt nothing. She pulled away from the curb and drove a few hundred yards down the road then pulled over. And sat there gasping for air, gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

\-----

Quinn was twitchy. What had he done? Set in motion a course of events he knew was completely of his own doing. What a fool. He knew he needed to push through it. Suck it up. He needed company. Didn't want to hang with Luke. He'd see right through him. He'd ask questions. Max wouldn't dare ask. Max it was.

So he found himself sitting at a bar watching college football with Max. Quinn was in a shitty mood. Poor Max always seemed to cop Quinn on the wrong side of a good mood. Quinn valued his company though. Even though they barely exchanged many words. On this day, Quinn was forcing himself to make conversation. But he didn’t want to be alone. He felt like total shit.

"How's Shelby?" he asked.

"She's good. She's great actually," replied Max, breaking into a broad grin. "She says hi." Max proceeded to talk at length about their Christmas plans, the gift he'd chosen for her, something about Shelby's mother's arthritis and then Quinn just stopped listening. 

_See, that's what love does_ , Quinn thought. _It changes people. This mute won't shut the fuck up._

"So, is she _the one_?" Quinn asked, placing dramatic emphasis on the two words.

"Maybe. I hope so," said Max. After a pause, he added "How do you know when they're the one?"

Quinn didn't answer. Dumbfounded that Max would think he knew the answer to that. These were stupid fucking questions for teenage girls, trying to convince themselves that the guy they’ve just given their virginity to is going to marry them and be with them forever. 

But, Max appeared to be hanging for a response. For advice. From him of all people.  
"I guess, you just know" Quinn responded impassively, looking at his beer bottle and communicating complete disinterest. Even though he had started the line of conversation.

"How did _you_ know?" Max asked, turning to him. 

Aha! That got Quinn's attention, and he turned his head slowly to Max with a deathly stare.

"Sorry, too personal?" Max tried to backtrack.

Quinn turned his head back towards his beer. He played with the bottle. Tracing circles with the base. Max assumed that the conversation had been shut down and resumed watching the screen across the bar. 

The _one_.

Then Quinn spoke, not looking at Max however, just the bottle.

"When they know all your damage… but still choose to fall asleep in your arms."

\-----

Four days passed. Four days spent feeling sick to the core about how he'd fucked it all up, haunted by the memory of the look on her face when he'd screamed at her to leave. Feeling sick physically, too. 

The sadist within him, that dark shadow, smirked in the satisfaction of knowing that this was always going to happen. Things for other people weren't destined for him. How moronic he'd been to entertain the stupid thought he could dabble in it, trust in it, surrender himself to it. Fucking fool.

But another, much, much smaller part was _aching_ to talk to her. Wanted her to hold him, stroke his hair and tell him he was going to be ok. But she was not his mother. And he was not her child, another Franny for her to look after.   
No. Not her patient.  
Not her burden.   
Not her responsibility.

Then her message came. He was at a work function, a thank you event for donors to the organization. He spent the evening having to smile, make small talk, say thank you a billion times. Things he had done before but on this occasion he found a herculean effort. The insomnia had worn him down. His body ached. He was sick of people asking if he was ok. Was it that obvious?

It was during the final speech from the CEO when he felt the buzz in his breast pocket. He was able to discreetly pull the phone out and look at the screen.

*I fucking miss you* 

He felt strangely emotional reading the words. The fact that Carrie had not called or messaged him since he'd sent her away the other morning could have meant a number of things. The one he'd feared - but expected - was that she hated him. Or, she may have been simply respecting his request for time? Less likely, but possible. This was Carrie, after all. He knew he had to deal with it. He excused himself early, blaming a migraine, and called her from the car. He was on his way over. Could they talk. Oh god.

\-----

Carrie met him on the front porch, mugs of hot tea in her hands for both of them. She wore an enormous puffy coat and hat. It was painful how beautiful she looked. They sat side by side on the bench seat. Somehow, they both knew that it was better to sit outside in the cold than talk inside. Maggie's eyes and ears around. 

Quinn was dressed elegantly in a black suit and grey woolen coat. The colors making his face look even more washed out and eyes hollow.

"You look awful." Carrie remarked with brutal honesty.

"I'm not really sleeping. I think I'm coming down with something."

She reached across and caressed the back of his head, her hand warm from handling the mug. He did not flinch, did not pull away. A good sign?

"Carrie, I am so sorry," he said looking down. "For… you know. And for yelling at you to leave."

"Has that… happened before?"

"What, have I attempted to strangle women I've slept with?" Quinn asked sarcastically.

"Shhh… You know what I mean."

"Nothing like that and nothing recently." He sighed heavily before continuing. "That can't happen again. I can't risk hurting you. Hurting Franny." His voice was measured. It almost sounded rehearsed, though it wasn’t.

Oh god, she could see where this was heading. She sat up straight and narrowed her eyes.  
"Don’t use this as an excuse Quinn," she warned.

"It's a pretty good fucking reason."

"No," she said emphatically.

He stayed silent while the heaviness in Carrie's chest grew larger. 

"So, is this it? Is this a break up conversation?" she asked in disbelief, but kind of as a joke. This was not happening. No. Surely not. Right?

He laughed, and not that happy laugh of his from days ago, but the other type of laugh you force out when you are trying to mask other feelings. When you are trying to hide your pain. "You're leaving next week anyway, Carrie." And he shrugged as if that's what was always going to happen. As if they'd not spoken about a future.

"No. I want you in my life. I need you in my life. You told me the same thing!" Carries eyes were wide, disbelieving.

He didn't speak but his body language did not suggest he disagreed. Carrie took this as a positive sign.

He appeared to smile slightly. He reached over and put his palm to the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Carrie lent into his palm, welcoming his touch. He spoke softly and sweetly. "Maybe this is all it was meant to be. Short, but beautifully sweet. You go back, you get on with your new life. Remember this for all the good parts…"

She pushed his hand away. "Stop! Why are you saying this?" Carrie was stunned. This was so far out of the realms of possibility that she'd considered. "What about everything we talked about? We had a plan. To be together." 

"That wasn’t a _plan_ ," Quinn scoffed. "They were dreams, big ideas, fantasies." His tone was dismissive and arrogant. He had to say that, to make himself believe it.

Carrie's stomach dropped. Oh my god, the house, the kids in the yard, the dog running around, Carrie folding laundry and Quinn fixing one of the kids' bikes... In an instant, the vivid image of her future Carrie had painted in her mind shattered in a million pieces. 

She shook her head furiously. "Fuck you. No, you know what? I don't believe you. You know that's not true!"

His voice darkened. "Things are different now. I've clearly gotta sort my shit out. I thought I was better than I am."  
He wasn't looking at her anymore but down to the ground. None of this made sense. His behavior made no sense.

"And… I'm here for you Quinn. Have you spoken to your doctor? I could come with you, if you want." As if he'd let her. She was clutching at straws.

"I'm no good for you Carrie. You deserve better. I'll only hurt you, sooner or later. I'm a complete fuck-up. I got it all wrong." 

"What happened to I love you? Was that all pretend too?" She asked with bitterness. 

He couldn't lie. _It's because I love you_ , he wanted to say. But wouldn't. And he did not know how to answer her, so he just said nothing and chewed on his tongue. He had to get out of there. He felt like he was on the precipice of caving. Of collapsing in front of her in tears, putting on a pitiful display of his complete psychological ineptitude.

He stood up, signaling finality. An end to the discussion. "I've made up my mind." _I'll forget you in time._

"You don't get to make that decision alone."

"You're not listening Carrie." _She never fucking listens_. "We're done."

All of a sudden Carrie felt numb, strange and detached. Almost like she was outside of herself, watching the scene unfold and powerless to really control what happened next. She had no idea what the fuck to feel… to do… to say. 

And he'd surprised even himself with those words. 

In a final moment of weakness, Quinn crouched in front of her. He hated he was doing this to her. To himself.  
He leant in and kissed her on the lips softly, lingering slightly before pulling away. She didn’t kiss him back. Didn’t grab his shoulders. She felt completely paralyzed. He stood and gave a slight nod of his head before turning and walking towards the street. Something inside herself compelled Carrie to stand and follow him. She was not ready for him to disappear from her sight. 

Quinn didn't realize she had followed until he was opening the car door and looked up.

"Carrie…" he began, but then didn't know what to say next. 

It had the makings of a ridiculously romantic moment. Two lovers. One chasing down the other. Their eyes connected. The moonlight. The backdrop of twinkling Christmas lights on the houses in the background…

Carrie had never been one for accepting no as an answer. Her tenacity and determination. He'd always admired it. So, Quinn half expected her to mount more of a fight, argue her case, tell him not to leave. Or half hoped she would. But… she didn't. Carrie did not speak. Did not plead. Did not beg. Did not yell or curse. Did not even shed a tear. Just looked at him with incredible sadness and confusion.

As they stood there in silence, Quinn waited for her to stop him from leaving. And Carrie waited for him to put his keys in his pocket and walk back to her. Tell her he got it wrong. 

Each of them stubborn. So nothing happened.

In the end, after what felt like a lifetime staring at each other, she lifted her chin and just spat out three words. "This is bullshit." Then turned on her heel and walked back to the house.

Quinn watched her disappear inside. The porch light turned off. He got in his car and turned his mind to the bottle of whiskey waiting for him at home. Maybe if he drank enough he'd manage to fall asleep?

You see, he hadn't come over this night to do this. Words came out of his mouth. He hadn't exactly planned them. And she hadn't tried very hard to stop him. Well, not really.

His exhaustion was making him feel drunk behind the wheel. The pain in his head like a hangover. The fog that had descended around him was making it hard to know what was real. The screaming voices in his head grew louder as he drove. 

What the fuck have you done?  
What the fuck have you done?  
What the fuck have I done?

That real life. That real love. That fucking stupid glimmer that had danced in front of him again, taunting him, teasing him. It was laughing at him now.

_The chances that you thought you had... They really came to nothing at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was all going a bit _too_ well, don’t you agree? Sorry if it's a frustrating way to leave things (for now).  
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Yeah...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows directly on from previous chapter. Carrie gets some answers and Quinn really needs a hug.

Carrie lay awake in bed until the early hours of the morning, bewildered, bitter and hurting. At a loss to understand how things had so quickly had pivoted from amazingness to nothingness. Surely there was more than Quinn's nightmare behind this. Searching for answers, combing her memory for reasons, clues, something to justify his sudden and brutal one-eighty, she eventually was claimed by a fitful sleep.

The next day her actions were mechanical, robotic. She hadn't cried, but it felt like she had. That feeling of having your emotions run over by a lawnmower. She snapped at Franny over breakfast then told Maggie she had a headache and returned to her bedroom. She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. Across the room, through the open doors of the closet, she could see the shopping bag in which Quinn's Christmas gift sat. The one Franny had helped pick out and she'd promised they'd wrap together. 

She did not talk to Maggie about it. Carrie suspected there was probably a great big I told you so coming her way and was not prepared to deal with that just yet. Plus, talking about it, saying it out loud would make it real. She preferred to stay in denial for a bit longer. But Maggie was no fool. Knew that Carrie had not seen nor been out with Peter for days. Could tell by Carrie's mood, her vacant stares and sullen responses. Something had clearly happened. But knew better than to ask. 

Instead, she treated Carrie to her favorite home-cooked dinner and had a movie picked out for them to watch together. Carrie fell asleep on the couch though, waking up during the closing credits when her sister gently rubbed her arm. Carrie dragged herself upstairs. Her phone had been on charge in her room since before dinner. When she looked at it she saw a message from Beth, from a few hours earlier.

*If you're looking for him, he's over here. He's a mess.*

Carrie's heartbeat quickened and she called Beth immediately.

"Hey Carrie" 

"Beth, what's happened? I just saw your message." The concern was palpable in Carrie's voice.

"It's ok, he's in our guest room. I gave him an Ambien. He needs to sleep. I just wanted you to know he was safe."

"But you said he was a mess."

"Yeah, he has been. All afternoon." 

Carrie didn't respond. But Beth sighed.

"It's none of my business Carrie, but he told us that he broke up with you."

"Aha…" _So, it's official._

"He's been very emotional. And incredibly regretful." 

More silence from Carrie.

"Carrie, did you know he'd stopped taking some of his meds?"

"No." _What the fuck_ …Carrie's mind started racing.

"Yeah. I'm not exactly sure when. A week ago maybe? He came clean with Luke today, saying he didn't want to be medicated anymore. So decided for himself to half his doses or stop some altogether, I think. It's messed him up. He's pretty devastated about what he's done. About you, in particular."

Carrie ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. She did not know what to think. It went some way to explain things. His change in behavior, his physical symptoms, the insomnia. But why would he do that? Alone?

Beth continued. "I kept him here because I was worried. I didn't want him going home by himself. He said he hadn't slept for days. He's sleeping now, but you should come round tomorrow. Talk to him."

"I don’t think he'll want to see me, Beth." 

"I disagree. But it's up to you." 

"He was clear on his decision last night."

"Well, he's been clear with us that he wishes he could take that that all back."

Carrie sighed again, thinking. Processing. Trying to put her finger on the emotion she was feeling. It was anger.

"Listen, we promised our girls pancakes for breakfast tomorrow," Beth said. "Bring Franny along. She can play and you guys can sort your shit out. You need to Carrie, your Christmas is going to suck if you don't."

"Thanks for looking after him, Beth," Carrie said quietly.

She gave a half-attempt at a laugh. "It's what you do for family."

Carrie had another restless night's sleep.

\----- 

Carrie bundled Franny in the car early the next day on the promise of pancakes and a playdate. After they arrived, Beth shuttled Franny into the kitchen and pointed Carrie to the guest bedroom in which Quinn was sleeping.

Beth pulled Carrie aside before she went in, and handed her a cup of coffee.

"We got him an appointment with his doctor this afternoon. Lucky, he'd had a cancellation. It'd help if you encourage him to go."

"He's not going to listen to me, Beth."

"Listen Carrie, I've been there. It's horrible, I know. He thinks he's protecting you. But he's just really scared."

"Of…?"

"Of losing you."

Carrie entered the dark room and took a seat in the large armchair in the corner. Muted strips of sunlight were aching to creep through at the sides of the heavy curtains. She sat in silence and watched him sleeping as she sipped the terrible coffee. A shrill scream from a child (Carrie wasn't sure which one) interrupted the silence and Quinn stirred. Unfamiliar with his surroundings and still a little groggy, he pushed himself up and looked around. His eyes landing on Carrie's form in the corner.

"Carrie, is that you? How did you get here?"

"It's a Christmas miracle," she said flatly.

"They called you."

"There are people in your life that care about you very much."

Quinn sat up, but did not speak. Carrie handed him the coffee.

"Going off your meds? Seriously Quinn?"

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Carrie continued her assault.

"What possessed you? Are you insane?"

"Evidently." His voice was barely audible, but then he spoke louder. "You're a fucking hypocrite. Because you're the poster child for following doctor's orders?"

"Yeah, and look where that got me. You know, you saw it, remember? You can't play god with this stuff."

Carrie stood up, her arms were folded across her chest as she paced the room. She felt deeply hurt. Blind-sided that he hidden this from her. "Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Why did you? You were doing so well."

Quinn groaned. Why indeed. He wrestled with the choice of how much to tell her. But then he figured that she clearly knew enough, that Luke or Beth would tell her what he'd said.

"Guess I was just doing an awesome job of pretending."

"You weren't pretending. That was your medication working. Are you forgetting I'm medicated _every single day_?"

Quinn shook his head. "I thought… I felt really good, amazing. Better. Like I didn’t need it anymore. I wanted to prove to myself, to you, that I was reliable. Not a fuck-up. I was wrong. And I got it all wrong." 

"Anything like that has to be done in a controlled way, under medical supervision, Quinn. Not cold turkey."

"It wasn't cold turkey. I was tapering them, I'd researched it."

"And what are you, a fucking pharmacist?! You can't always be the smartest person in the room, Quinn. Fuck!" Carrie wasn’t hiding her anger and outrage. It made Quinn feel tiny and even more pathetic.

"Ok. I get it Carrie. I fucked it all up…I'm sorry."

With those words, Carrie heard his voice falter and she prayed to god that he would not start crying. She would not know what to do with that. How to react. _God, what a bitch_ , she thought. Thankfully for them both, he managed to hold his shit together. His posture remained slumped and his face was painted with shame and embarrassment.

Empathy, true empathy, was not one of her strengths. She knew how to feign it, had done so with great effect when recruiting and working her assets. But faced with a situation where she probably should be compassionate and comforting… Carrie just felt awkward and out of her depth with the tables turned. He was meant to be the strong, reliable one. Her rock. To see the stoic and ever-composed Quinn in a complete mess was distressing and uncomfortable. 

"Did you mean it? When you said we were over?" Carrie asked him quietly.

Silence.

"Is that what you _want_ , Quinn?" she asked gently.

Silence. Carrie looked down at him, furious that he could not even respond. She started pacing the room again, slowly.

"Was that all just tough guy bullshit because you were scared you'd try to strangle me in your sleep again? Or because you weren't able to think clearly and it seemed like the easy thing to do? You wanted to protect me somehow from your spiral? Or because your little drug experiment didn't work out so well and you didn't know how to admit you'd fucked up? Because you're a coward and thought it'd be easier to quit than to ask for my help? Because you like to run away? How am I going? Am I on the right track? Am I close?"

"Something, maybe like that" he said flatly. "You should really consider becoming a therapist, Carrie. You have such a delicate way with words."

The corner of her mouth started to turn up but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Well… I've given it some thought," Carrie began, like a judge delivering her verdict. "And I've decided we're not done. We're not breaking up."

"We're not?" Quinn sounded surprised. 

"No," she said firmly, still pacing. "Doing what you did with your medication, was a mistake. The other night, another mistake. Your judgement was hampered by… your own fucking stupidity." There, those comforting words of hers again. "So, we are not done. This is not over. It's… _We_ … are just beginning." Those last words were barely above a whisper. 

He rubbed his face with his hands, trying desperately to hide his relief and gratitude. Despite her combative tone and hostile body language.

"But do _not_ smile because we are _not_ ok. Because you've got to talk to me from now on. But not just to me, to your doctors."

"Ok," he agreed.

"Ok," she nodded. "To start with, you're going to that appointment this afternoon. And you're going back on your Prazosin. And anything else that you decided to stop taking. But under medical guidance and supervision. And you're never to pull that shit again." _Wow, I really am winning at compassion here_ , she thought.

"You're incredibly hard to say no to, Carrie."

"Yeah, well… That's what I am counting on." Carrie's response was monotone. Unenthusiastic. She collapsed back down in the armchair in the corner. There was no kiss. No embrace. No move at all from Carrie, who remained sitting there in the chair. Impassive. Defeated. Just tired. She felt relieved, but empty. Only marginally better than the day before. There was still distance in her eyes and he could see that. The crack between them still very much there.

Just then, Franny burst into the room. "Peter, tomorrow's Christmas Eve! Tomorrow's Christmas Eve!" She jumped up on the bed and climbed on top of him, repeating it over and over. Her excitement made him smile.

"Now, _this_ ," he said, pointing to Franny who was smothering him, "…is manipulation. God, I've missed you Princess," he said into her soft hair and gave her a hug. This made Carrie tear up and she looked up to the roof and blinked a few times to stop them falling. Talk about manipulation.

Carrie and Quinn sat at the kitchen counter in front of plates of re-heated pancakes. They were alone. Luke and Beth at the other end of the house giving them space. The silence was oppressive, and it hung heavy in the air. Carrie was doing her best to hold it together. Quinn had no idea how to act around her. As they nibbled, the two could overhear the giggling conversation of the young girls playing in the next room. 

"Your daddy and mommy are eating the rest of the pancakes," remarked the younger sister to Franny.

"No! That's _Peter_. My daddy's in heaven," Franny responded frankly.

"Oh.."

"But, we have Peter now," Franny remarked with pragmatism.

Fuck.

Everything from the past 48 hours, all the emotions Carrie had kept at bay were resurfacing. The tears she hadn't cried. Carrie knew she was about to lose it, and stood and turned around to leave the room but was caught by Quinn who wrapped her in his arms as she started to crumble.

His strong arms around her, the smell of his t-shirt, the way he just stood there and held her as her body trembled and throat choked back sobs. She felt so confused. His embrace was everything, but nothing at the same time. Carrie broke away and walked back into the guest room. She opened the curtains and stood looking out to the front yard, bathed in the pale morning sun. She heard Quinn come in behind her and shut the door.

"I was not prepared for that, sorry," she explained. "We really don't talk much about… her father. I mean, she knows he died but… Hearing her explain it to another kid just breaks your heart."

Quinn came and put a hand on her shoulder.

"And to hear how she thinks about you…" Carrie's voice broke and she choked back another sob.

She pulled away and went and sat on the side of the bed. She was so tired. She lay back and stared blankly up at the ceiling. "For so long I truly believed you'd died too."

You'd died _too_. He'd never thought about it that way. That she might have grieved him, as she had Brody. 

"You would have been told. They would have given you my letter," Quinn remarked as he sat down next to her.

"What letter?"

"The one you write in case you don't come back."

"I'd left the country. They wouldn't have known where to find me."

"You wanna bet?" He said with a dark laugh.

"What did it say?"

"I don't remember," he lied.

"Where is it now?"

Quinn knew where it was, who had it, who had probably fucking read it. Memorized it. But instead he said, "Got destroyed when I got out."

They remained there for a few moments in silence. Carrie lying down lost in her own swirling thoughts, Quinn picked up her left hand in his and held it. He looked at her fingernails, rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, then turned her hand over and gently kissed the heel of her palm.

"I was living a happy life, Quinn. But when you came back into it, everything just… got better." Her voice was wistful, dreamy.

"Can we get back there?" He asked with expectation.

"Maybe. But we've altered course. _You_ altered it. It's not going to be the same." _Shit, did I just blame him? I did. Is that fair? I've said it now._

As the morning sunshine rose higher in the sky, the soft light shone through the window to illuminate her face. She looked angelic. But so, so distant. Despite her wish to remain together, despite their physical closeness in that moment, he couldn't feel further apart.

"Do you still want me to come out and visit?" he asked, with both hope and fear in his voice.

"Let's just get you healthy first. I'm not sure your doctor will want you travelling if you're… if your dosages are changing." Vague. Non-committal. Carrie's response clearly articulated her view on things. Despite it being the only thing she wanted.

Quinn's face looked crushed, shattered. He'd lost his ability to mask his emotions. The walls of the room felt like they were beginning to cave in on him. He gripped her hand and his voice went up an octave.

"I meant everything I said, Carrie. Last week. About building the house and having a family. I promise, I meant it!" He was pleading now. And his heart was breaking.

She closed her eyes. "Yeah…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my original plan (ha!) was for this chapter to be combined with the two that follow. But, they combine to be somewhat of a dissertation so I am splitting them up. Getting from A to B is just going to take a bit longer than I planned and hoped. I hope you can stay along for the ride. :-)


End file.
